


Otium

by Lis (domesticharry)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Auror Harry Potter, Curse Breaker Draco Malfoy, F/M, Happy Ending, M/M, Pining, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Psychological Trauma, Slow Burn, but you will be in angst until that happy ending, have tissues, sorry bitch, this will hurt you but hang in there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-01-26 23:20:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 50,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21382240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/domesticharry/pseuds/Lis
Summary: Nearly five years after the war, Harry’s decision to not be present for Draco’s trial had finally caught up to him. He never knew Draco was sentenced to multiple years of insidious torture, each one designed to disassemble the youngest Malfoy.One: A year confined in an Azkaban cell.Two: A year without the ability to feel emotion.Three: A year without the sense of touch.Four: A year without the ability to speak.Five: A year without the sense of sight.Harry never knew any of it. Not until he was assigned a case that involved coming face to face with the Ministry's latest pet-project.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 79
Kudos: 293





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> In 190 BC, "otium" was a military term that represented the feeling of restlessness after a war. The following fiction has been inspired by the Roman poem “Iphigenia” by Quintus Ennius. 
> 
> ***
> 
> You can find my ramblings on tumblr @domestic-harry or on twitter @thequeensue  
\- Lis xx

**Prologue**

Fifty-eight. That was how many interminable days the Wizengamot had spent watching different sets of teeth viciously gnash together as their judgement passed without leniency. The gallery had become accustomed to witnessing bitten nails splinter themselves into the wooden armrests of the accused’s stand. It didn’t matter what family the accused belonged to. They all did it. Men. Women. Adolescents. All of them broke at some point. Blood purity did nothing to transform tortured screams into something classical or respectable. In fact, purity was the furthest thing from spectator’s minds. It may have been fifty-eight days since the war ended, but Harry Potter’s pastime was still consumed with watching the suffering of others. 

**** 

“Absolute bollocks.” 

The muscle along Harry’s jaw tensed. He had been forced to hear the mumbled statement an obscene number of times during the previous weeks. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, attempting to ease the bundle of tension that had steadily bloomed into a migraine. 

“Poncy fuckin’ git.”

Closing his eyes, Harry deeply inhaled and counted backwards from five. The Mind Healer from St.Mungo’s had instructed him to do so whenever he started to, as she described with an airy voice, “feel an unfortunate amount of impending stress.” 

It was rather rich advice considering his entire life could have been classified as _ an unfortunate amount of impending stress _. 

An unsympathetic grin hitched the corner of his mouth at the memory of that particular afternoon. The moment the words came out of Healer Cleary’s mouth, Harry accidentally blew up a nearby sweets bowl. A traitourios chuckle escaped him as Exploding Bonbons flung themselves across her office and splattered the walls with a congealed mud-like paste. 

Shaking the memory of the sweets bowl away, Harry tried the prescribed breathing exercise. With the amount of press lurking in the courtroom, he had to maintain the Golden-Boy-Now-Man behavior that the newly minted Head Auror, Gawain Robards, forced him to practice. It wasn’t good for wizarding families to see a future Auror acting unreasonably. 

_ “You must learn to control your emotions, Mr. Potter. Control your emotions and the control of your magic will follow. Take a deep breath for me and practice control.” _

Harry’s hands gripped the knobs of his knees as Healer Cleary’s voice flitted through his conscience. 

_ “Difficulties exist to shape us into who we are meant to become. It’s time to let go of those difficulties and adjust to a new normal. Release your difficulties with an exhale.” _

The heels of Harry’s palms pressed into the fabric of his constricting dress robes. Forcing Healer Cleary’s voice to become nothing more than distant white noise, he deeply inhaled and held his breath. 

Ron grumbled, “Slimy bastard doesn’t deserve it.”

“You don’t have to be here, you know,” Harry harshly snapped, his words tumbling out in a rush. 

“Harry,” Hermione admonished with a frown.

He belatedly realized that they had gathered the shameless curiosity of a few nearby witches and wizards. Harry flinched at their stares and instinctively ducked his head down even though it was too late.

“Sorry,” he relented even though he was not feeling sorry at all. When Ron made an unimpressed noise, Harry frustratedly ran his fingers through his tangled hair. He turned his upper body towards Ron and with a quieter voice, told him, “I mean it. You don’t have to be here.” 

Ron’s shoulders sagged. They both stared down into the belly of the dungeon where an intimidatingly positioned chair stood. Steel chains heavily hung from each wooden leg. The manacles seemed to insidiously glint under anticipation of ensnaring another accused. 

After a moment, Ron peered at Harry from the corner of his eyes. “You don’t owe him anything.”

Harry knew it was a losing battle. He automatically looked to Hermione for an answer as she was usually the most rational voice between the three. However, she wasn’t paying them attention any longer. 

Hermione stared across the chamber with a haziness that was disconcertingly unusual for her. Harry frowned and followed her gaze. He raked over the looping gallery, but didn’t see anyone they hadn’t spent the past few months staring at. Just when he opened his mouth to ask what Hermione was looking at, Harry noticed her fingers twitch. Irrevocable sadness wrapped around the pit of his stomach. 

“‘Mione...” Harry started and stopped, not having the slightest clue what words would come close to being right. Maybe there would never be something as simple as the _ right _ words. 

Hermione halted the mindless rubbing along her left forearm where faint scars were eternally etched into her warm-umber skin. She dazedly blinked from her stupor and Harry watched her features orchestrate into something significantly more nonchalant. 

How could he have been so thoughtless?

Harry felt bile rise in his throat. Forcibly swallowing it back down, he stiffly stood from the bench and ignored the gaping onlookers. He wouldn’t put Hermione in the position of having to relive that afternoon. Especially when it meant her having to listen to Malfoy defend what had taken place in the Manor. 

Harry spoke without forethought. “C’mon, we’re leaving. Kingsley already has my written testimonial.” He deliberately kept his eyes on Hermione when he concluded, “_ We _ don’t need to be here.” 

Hermione caught on quickly enough and her nonchalance visibly deflated into resignation. She shook her head. “No. Really, I’m fine. It doesn’t—”

“I’ve already done all I can do,” Harry spoke over Hermione before she could say that her being mutilated no longer mattered. “Whatever is going to happen to him is out of my hands at this point.”

“If the Wizengamot misinterprets...Harry, you won’t get to change your mind on this if you decide tomorrow you don’t like the verdict,” Hermione carefully pointed out. 

Harry stubbornly folded his arms and didn’t waver. “I don’t care what happens.”

Ron disbelievingly cocked an eyebrow. “_ You _ don’t care what happens to Malfoy?” 

Harry looked down at Hermione’s forearm once more. He shook his head. “No. Whatever they decide, he’s earned it.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” 

Harry nodded at Ron.

Ron groaned with an impressive amount of gusto that had Harry fighting off an inappropriate smile. “Well that’s just great, mate. I’ve been telling you for weeks to forget the twat, but _ no, _you just had to go off and decide at the last moment when we could’ve been at Sunday roast.” 

“I think you’ll regret it,” Hermione wearily restated, fully ignoring her boyfriend’s petulence. 

“Hermione, leave it,” Ron sighed and got to his feet. He stretched his arms over his head before clapping Harry on the back. “He’s finally got some bloody sense knocked into him when it comes to Malfoy. Don’t question it.” 

Hermione was significantly more hesitant, but she did rise from her seat in the end. 

The trio strode to the nearest aisle. Around them, murmurs quickly swelled to a chaotic buzz. They filed in a line and started up a set of stairs that exited the gallery. Just as Harry was about to reach the top step, he heard the agonizingly familiar creak of the dungeon door opening. He paused with his back towards the center of the room. The crowd’s collective voice became a ghostly hush. Then, he heard it. Two sets of footsteps crossed the floor below. Harry’s skin crawled at the tinkling of manacles dragging against the marble. The eerie echo was almost enough for him to change his mind once more. 

“Oi!” Ron hissed from the gallery exit. His wide gaze nervously darted from Harry to the depth of the dungeon.

Harry shook himself out of his own selfish agenda. He had to put an end to his obsessive nature. He had to for Hermione.

_ It’s time to let go of those difficulties and adjust to a new normal. _

Without looking back, Harry exited the courtroom and left thoughts of Draco Malfoy behind.

**Chapter One**

A bead of sweat slowly trickled along the supple arch of Harry’s neck. It slid over the first few notches of his vertebrae before slipping beneath the unbuttoned collar of his Auror uniform. A renegade strand of hair plastered itself to his slightly damp forehead, partly covering the scar that spiderwebbed downwards from his hairline and cut through this right eyebrow. He flexed his fingers as a rumble of subdued magic slowly ebbed from the center of his chest towards his fingertips. 

A floorboard creaked. 

Harry sprang from a crouched position and swiftly slashed his wand through the air. “Aguamenti!”

“No water charms near paperwork,” Auror Faust droned without looking up from the horoscope portion of Witch Weekly. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Harry automatically responded. He intently stared at a cluttered desk across the Auror bullpen. When Harry thought he saw movement, he flicked his wrist with a swish. “Cantis!”

A jovial laugh sputtered out from behind Auror Merrick’s desk. The top half of a freckled face popped up over the surface, eyes crinkled with delight. “If you want to hear me sing so bad, all you have to do is buy tonight’s rounds.”

“Nice try,” Harry breathlessly laughed while lowering himself into a squat. He peeked around the corner of a filing cabinet and saw Ron grinning back at him. Harry pointedly raised an eyebrow. “I picked up the tab last week. Hang on. Make that last week_ and _the week before that. Y’know, when you and ‘Mione decided to bugger off. Without me.” 

“No idea what you’re going on about,” Ron innocently deflected before rapidly throwing two stinging hexes Harry’s way. 

“Course you don’t, you absolute shit,” Harry scoffed without any legitimate venom. He frowned and rubbed over his shin where one of the hexes landed. “Point. You got my leg on the second one.” 

“Hear that, Nessie?” Ron practically crowed. 

Faust raised her head from the magazine. She deliberately pushed her glasses down the narrow bridge of her nose in order to properly glare at Ron. She pointed a finger at him. “Call me Nessie one more time and I’ll make sure the only cases Robards gives you are for missing kneazles.” 

“Bit counterproductive since we’re partners.”

Her frosty gaze sharpened and Harry felt exceedingly grateful to be partnerless. 

“Fine,” Ron conceded with a whine. “Did you hear that, _ Vanessa _?” 

A satisfied smirk lifted her burgundy painted lips. She waved her wand towards a chalkboard mounted next to Ron’s station. The disillusionment charm fell away to reveal a new score. 

** _Weasley - 186 _ **

** _Potter - 194_ **

Faust flipped to the “What Would Celestina Do?” advice column of her magazine and went back to ignoring them. Ron gave his partner a fond eye roll before turning back to Harry. His expression morphed into something more sheepish. “You’re not actually still sore about about us leaving Tentacula’s Trap early, are you?”

Harry shook his head and valiantly did not laugh at the blatant concern. Immediate relief smoothed out Ron’s features. 

“Anyways,” Ron started conspiratorially, “you wouldn’t have wanted to leave with us.” He ridiculously waggled his eyebrows, “If you know what I mean.”

“I’m sure we all know exactly what you mean.”

Harry and Ron flinched at the demeaning tone. They quickly stood upright and faced their imperious boss. Robards’ mouth was twisted with blatant disappointment. The brief elation Harry felt from the otherwise monotonous day was instantly extinguished. He slid his wand into the buttery leather holster that looped around his forearm. His eyes flicked towards the chalkboard, relieved to see Faust had replaced the disillusionment. Rolling his shoulders back, Harry clasped his hands together. 

Robards strode further into the bullpen, scarlet robes whipping across the air behind him in a way that reminded Harry of Snape. The Head Auror folded his arms and stopped in front of Ron. “Remind me, Weasley, how old are you?” 

The tips of Ron’s ears flushed. He reluctantly muttered, “Twenty-three, sir.” 

“Oh, what a relief,” Robards sarcastically praised. “For a moment I thought I had accidentally hired a second year schoolboy.”

Ron’s lips turned white where they pressed together.

Harry took a step closer to the opposing men. “Auror Robards, it was my—” 

Robards’ head snapped towards Harry, cutting off whatever Harry was about to say with a chilling look alone. He steepled his hands together. “Believe it or not, just because the two of you seem to be inseparable, that does not make you the same person, Potter.” Robards pointed a thick finger at Ron, “I was speaking to Weasley.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry muttered. 

The heels of Robards’ polished boots clacked when he promptly spun around and stalked towards his office. He didn’t bother to glance over his shoulder when he barked, “Weasley, I want your reports finished and on my desk by the end of the day. Don’t think I didn’t notice you’re two days late on Fortescue’s paperwork. Potter, my office. Now.” 

Ron gave Robards’ retreating figure an impressively withering look. Harry sympathetically grimaced and followed their boss into his circular office. He stopped short in the doorway when he saw who had just stepped out of the fireplace. His stomach sank. 

“Kingsley?” Harry’s hand paused on the doorknob before remembering himself and pulling it shut. Harry couldn’t recall having to meet the Minister in Auror Headquarters since they resolved Harry’s accidental magic.

That was at least three years ago. 

“Harry,” Kingsley warmly smiled and extended his hand to Harry, “how’re you?”

“Uh, fine,” Harry cautiously answered and slowly shook Kingsley’s hand. He looked between the Minister and Head Auror. Before a warning bell of non-professionalism could ring somewhere in the back of his mind, the following question tumbled out: “Have I been sacked?”

Kingsley released a deep laugh that reverberated off the sleekly tiled walls. Robards somehow appeared more exasperated than before. 

“No, you haven’t been sacked,” Kingsley chortled. 

Robards gestured towards one of the chairs opposite of his walnut desk. “Have a seat, Potter.” 

Harry hesitated, feeling inexplicably unnerved. 

Kingsley encouragingly patted the back of the chair. “You’re not in trouble. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“Sir?”

“Take a seat and let the Minister explain.”

Only fractionally reassured, Harry followed the order. He subtly wiped his clammy palms over his work robes and waited. 

“Minister Shacklebolt,” Robards held his right hand out towards Kingsley as if Harry had no idea who he was, “has requested to bring you on a Class Four.” Robards’ mouth twitched as if the following words pained him. “He believes you would be best suited given certain…_ sensitivities _of the case.”

Harry’s brows shot upward and he turned to Kingsley for confirmation. At the Minister’s subtle nod, Harry slumped back in his seat. Class Four was far above Harry’s clearance. Or any Field Auror for that matter. Class Four was reserved for the Minister, Head of DMLE, Head Auror, and Unspeakables. 

The implication of needing him specifically was enough to create a pool of anxiety in Harry’s gut. Magic vibrated through him, clawing for release. It felt like an uncomfortable itch that would never be satisfied. He subconsciously thumbed over the pair of thin gold bands that snugly circled his wrists. 

“Does,” Harry started, but stopped at how unfamiliar his voice sounded to his own ears. He closed his eyes and deeply breathed in. _ Five, four, three, two, one. _When the thrum of magic slightly subsided, he tried again. “Does this have to do with…”

They all knew what he was asking without saying. 

_ Does this have to do with Voldemort? _

Kingsley and Robards exchanged a charged look. The Minister urged Robards into action with an authoritative tilt of his chin. Reluctantly, Robards placed a roll of parchment on the desk. Harry leaned forwards, expecting a file brief, but quickly realized it was a contract. 

“Before we disclose details,” Kinglsey slid the parchment closer towards Harry, “we need assurance of your complete discretion and agreement not to speak of sensitive information to any unauthorized party.” 

“Hard as it might be for you, that includes Auror Weasley and Miss Granger,” Robards demeaningly taunted. He summoned a quill and inkpot. Leaning back in his chair, Robards folded his arms behind his head and crossed one leg over the other. His deep-set brown eyes bore into Harry with unnecessary challenge. 

Harry took the extensively inked parchment in hand and began to read over the terms. It was relatively standard for the first few paragraphs until the details steadily became nothing more than obscure. When he reached a third of the way down the page, he frowned and read outloud, “Harry James Potter will not reveal the location of Personnel No. One’s quarters as well as his own temporary residence in the duration of Q.A.:Classified Case Four.” 

“If you decide to accept, you will temporarily be living elsewhere,” Kinglsey elaborated without actually explaining anything. 

Harry’s frown deepened. “Where, though?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

Harry glanced at the agreement. “For how long?”

Robards bitterly huffed out a burst of air. He stood from his seat and stared down at Kingsley. “If the definition of what ‘classified’ means is too complicated for Potter, I hardly think he is the Auror for the position. I’ve been telling you from day one that the preferential treatment he gets—” 

“That’s quite enough,” Kingsley’s expression darkened. He raised himself to his full height and spoke with unveiled impatience, “As I have explained numerous times, Auror Potter has not received any more preferential treatment than you yourself, Gawain. He received near-perfect marks throughout training and has a superb case record. On top of that, given his particular background, Harry is the perfect Auror for this case. Now, if you question my decision one more time, especially in front of another subordinate, I won’t hesitate to put you on suspension.” 

The hue of Robards’ skin had steadily changed from sickly green to deathly white during Kingsley’s diatribe. When Robards quickly peered at Harry with ill-concealed contempt, Harry didn’t know how he was meant to react. There was no protocol for what to do when your boss openly campaigns against the merit of your employment. It wasn’t as if he was unaware that Robards didn’t like him. Everyone in the department knew that. However, up until his outburst, Harry had chalked it up to the fact that Robards didn’t seem to like anyone. 

During the following silence, Harry decidedly saved thoughts for Robards until a later date and fully digested what Kingsley had said. 

_ Given his particular background, Harry is the perfect Auror for this case. _

“So this _ is _about Voldemort,” Harry confirmed more to himself than the other two men. When neither answered, he spoke a bit louder. “Isn’t it?”

Kingsley’s gaze flickered to the contract and Harry let out a frustrated noise. He grabbed the quill, dipped it in ink, and messily scrawled his signature at the bottom of the parchment. Harry tossed the quill back onto the desk’s surface. 

“Tell me.” 

Kingsley grinned despite the palpable tension in the room. He tightly rolled the parchment up and slipped it into his robes. “Let’s start from the top, shall we?” 

Robards sounded forcibly more agreeable when he asked Harry, “Have you heard of Quod Authirutas?” 

“No,” Harry slightly frowned and shook his head. “Sounds like an incantation, though. What is it?”

“_Who _is it,” Kingsley politely corrected. “It sounds like an incantation because it’s Latin. It means, The Authority.”

Robards slid a narrow case file to Harry. “A society recruiting likeminded witches and wizards who want to prevent another war.” 

“That’s...a bad thing?” Harry perplexedly stretched out. He didn’t want to sound thick, especially after Robards’ tirade, but he was becoming increasingly more confused as the meeting carried on. 

“Obviously not, Potter,” The Head Auror austerely grunted. At Kingsley’s warning glare, Robards amended, “No, it’s how they propose to do it.” 

“They believe the way to prevent another war is by protecting the magical world from growing complacent,” Kingsley grimly said. “They’re subtly going to create hysteria.”

“And hysteria means rash actions,” Harry thoughtfully sighed, catching up to where the conversation was going. 

“Precisely.” Kingsley looked away from Harry and rubbed his forehead. “As our history has shown, it doesn’t take long for prejudice to take form when we’re feeling vulnerable.”

Harry’s shoulders dropped at the thought of a Witch Weekly article Faust had mentioned that afternoon. “Sir, would this have anything to do with the hotel by Leaky?” 

A few streets from The Leaky Cauldron, there was a recently renovated hotel, Owl’s Nest. In a month’s time, the highrise would open to host not only wizarding families, but muggles, too. Magic wasn’t permitted to be used on the premises, even in private rooms. The general idea was to promote positive relations between wizarding folk and muggles, all the while keeping the Statute of Secrecy. According to Faust, it was the main topic of conversation for all news outlets. Even the Quibbler had begun to abstractly cover the impending opening. 

Kingsley didn’t turn around from where he was staring at the hearth along Robards’ fireplace. “We can only assume.” 

“Merlin,” Harry breathlessly intoned. He picked up the file labeled, _ Quod Authirutas: Classified Case Four _. 

“Word of the group first came to our attention roughly two months ago.”

Harry nearly dropped the file.

“This has been going on for months?” Harry slowly asked, firmly injecting disbelief into each word.

Kingsley nodded and motioned for Harry to open the file. “There wasn’t substantial evidence that it needed to be investigated rather than monitored from the ground.” 

“You’ve got to be joking.” Harry couldn’t help the sheer disappointment that poured into his expression. He had spent nearly the majority of his life fighting Ministers who didn’t take radical supremacists seriously. Harry never would have believed he’d have to have this kind of discussion again only a handful of years after the second war. Especially with an Order member. 

“People are free to hold their beliefs, regardless of how twisted they might be,” Kingsley calmly pointed out. He held out his hands by his side. “There wasn’t anything to be done.”

“But now there is,” Harry muttered and opened the folder. 

“Now there is,” Kingsley seriously agreed. 

Harry combed over the worryingly small amount of information. One of the Ministry's informants implanted in Knockturn Alley was first to report murmurs of the movement. When favorable traction seemed to be gaining, Auror Merrick and Auror Boone were assigned to scope out the rumored location of Quod Authirutas’ next forum. Pinching his bottom lip between his teeth, Harry flipped to the next page of the report. 

There were two photographs of a small house, each dated from the prior evening. Harry recognized Auror Merrick’s profile in the corner of the first photograph. His lean frame was felinelike as he carefully stalked closer towards a dense thicket. It wasn’t until the second photograph that something bizarre happened. 

Harry quickly blinked and stared at Merrick’s hand. One moment, Merrick’s wand was carefully raised in his grasp and then the next, his hand had flexed as if it had been hit by a stinging hex. The wand vanished.

“His wand disappeared,” Harry incredulously marveled. He shook his head as if to clear up more space to help him understand what occurred. Narrowing his eyes, he peered closer at the photograph. Where he originally thought the picture had a grainy quality, he realized it was actually Merrick’s wand turning to dust. Harry’s jaw slackened. “It _ disintegrated _.” 

A sickening sensation plagued Harry as he imagined how Merrick must have been feeling. Wandless. Harry was hurled back to a time during the horcrux hunt where his own wand had been splintered beyond relief. It had felt as if he was walking around with nothing more than a phantom limb for his wand hand. It was foreign. Unnatural. He shuddered when Kingsley snapped him back to the present. 

“There was an undetected ward along the perimeter of the house. We assume it only destroys wands that haven’t had their magical signature registered by the leader of Q.A.”

Harry tossed the case file back on the desk and reluctantly admitted, “Impressive.”

“It is,” Kingsley readily recognized, but Robards’ expression had disturbingly twisted as if he has just bitten into a lemon rind. 

“Did you find anything inside the house?” Harry asked. 

“Nothing, yet. We can’t get past the wards,” Kingsley confessed with a visible amount of unease that made Harry sit up straighter. “Curse-Breakers can’t disable the traps. They’re intricately designed and require powerful wandless magic to disassemble them.”

“That’s where you come in, Potter,” Robards denounced. 

“But,” Harry anxiously gripped the band along his left wrist, “I haven’t used wandless magic since—” 

“Merlin help me,” Robards closed his eyes. He exasperatedly gibed, “We’re not talking about _ you _using wandless magic.” 

“Oh, right. Course,” Harry awkwardly bleated. He felt a heady amount of relief, but with it also came a surprising amount of indignation. Rubbing the back of his neck, he stumbled to question, “So...why me?”

Kingsley and Robards exchanged another silent conversation. Harry wanted to curse them both for their silence, seeing as he had signed the bloody contract. 

“You’re going to have to come with us, Harry,” Kingsley finally acknowledged him. He strode to the fireplace and grabbed a handful of Floo Powder. “It’ll be better for...well, you’ll understand.”

Harry didn’t move. 

“On your feet, Potter,” Robards instructed with a rough clap against Harry’s shoulder. He strode towards the fireplace and gave him a withering look, “Or do you no longer wish to be involved on this case?” 

Gritting back a response that would actually get him sacked, Harry got to his feet. He watched Kingsley step inside the fireplace and boldly say, “Gringotts!” before disappearing in a roar of emerald flames. At the destination, Harry questioningly looked at his boss. Robards cruelly smirked and said nothing. 

Knowing he wasn’t going to get answers from the other Auror, Harry first pocketed his glasses and then gathered a handful of Floo Powder. Letting go of the powder, he carefully enunciated, “Gringotts!”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and tightly pressed his arms to his side. He felt an uncomfortable sensation ripple around him while his body was transported past different fireplace grates before abruptly halting. Green flames receded, but a film of soot still clung to his skin and robes. 

A young group of wizards that had been walking by the hearth, abruptly stopped at the impressive arrival of the Minister of Magic, Head Auror, and Harry Potter. They unmovingly gaped for a moment before collectively huddling together. As they walked away, their excited gossip trailed behind them. 

“Not everyday you see that.”

“I wonder if a vault has been broken into?”

“D’you reckon?”

“Don’t be an idiot, why else would they be here?”

“Alright, alright. No need to be rude!”

When their hurried voices diminished, Harry stepped further into the bank. He was fully aware that their presence caught more than just a few questioning looks. With that, Harry easily slipped into his public persona. It was a “confident yet approachable” demeanor that Kingsley and Robards had insisted he adopt. 

He politely waved at an edlerly witch who had a velvet pouch of coins clutched in her bony hands. At his attention, she promptly dropped the bag. She owlishly blinked back at Harry and didn’t make any movement to pick up the tumbling sickles. 

Oddly enough, the paralyzed in awe response happened more times than not.

With a grimace, Harry stiltedly lowered his hand and discreetly turn away. 

The Minister led them along the aisle of tellers until they reached an ornately carved podium of sorts. Harry stood back as Kinglsey leaned forward to have a hushed conversation with a rather plump goblin called Blagnogg. Robards surreptitiously positioned himself by Kingsley’s side, eyes restlessly sliding over their surroundings as if he expected an ambush. 

After a few minutes of waiting, a stoney-faced guard appeared by the stand. He stood nearly a head above Harry in height and his closely cropped haircut gave him an aura of authority. On his chest was a silver name tag with “Gannon” printed in cold block letters. 

Harry instinctively didn’t like him. 

Kingsley beckoned for Harry to follow Gannon and Blagnogg. They veered away from the miner carts that brought bankers to their vaults. Rather, Blagnogg directed them towards a discrete metal door that was somewhat obscured by shadows. He pressed a meaty palm against the industrial material. A shimmer danced over the pewter-grey surface and the distinct noise of a locking mechanism opening _ clicked _. 

“Gannon will take you from here, Minister,” Blagnogg curtly told them with a slight downward tilt of his head. 

Kingsley nodded, “Thank you.”

Blagnogg left the way they came and Harry couldn’t explain the sinking feeling that took place inside of him. 

Once Gannon pushed the door open, the four of them strode past the mouth of a daunting passageway. 

Dimly lit by sconce torches, the polished walls steadily transformed into macabre limestone. The further they walked, the air around them became muggy and nearly tangible between Harry’s fingers. He didn’t realize claustrophobia had sunk its talons into his nerves until the walls of the passageway widened and he shakily exhaled. 

Harry ignored Robards’ demeaning leer when he tugged at the collar of his uniform to allow air to touch his dewy skin. He couldn’t stand small dark spaces. 

“Not glamorous enough for you, Potter?” Robards muttered under his breath. 

Harry ground his teeth together and forced himself to swallow down a retaliation. 

The passageway led to an empty oval room with three connecting doors. 

Kingsley was staring at the left door when he asked Gannon, “Did you tell him we were coming?”

Harry could have sworn a sickly smile was threatening to tug at Gannon’s mouth. He blinked and the guard’s lips were back into a firm line. He shook his head once. “No, sir.”

Kinglsey didn’t appear to be reassured or disappointed by the report. Harry whipped his head toward the left doorway and slid his wand from its holster. 

“Sir,” Harry carefully began, “who exactly is in there?”

Kignsley sighed, and it did nothing but bolster Harry’s anxiety. 

“Let's find out, shall we?” Robards jumped in, sounding and appearing far too delighted by the idea. He might as well have been rubbing his palms together and eliciting a maniacal cackle. “You can stay out here, Gannon. We’ll be fine.”

Everything about the situation had Harry’s teeth on edge.

“What the fuck is in there?” Harry incredulously asked Kingsley, not caring how it looked to be speaking to the Minister with such brashness.

Kingsley turned towards Harry and his gaze was full of gravity. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it once more. Finally, he carefully appealed, “I need you to remain practical.”

Harry felt his cheeks flush with pure frustration. When he didn’t respond, the Minister glanced at Gannon and tightly nodded. 

Gannon walked right up to the door and placed his hand over the center just as Harry had seen Blagnogg do earlier. He twisted the doorknob, nodded for them to approach, and then pushed the door fully open. Kingsley and Robards walked straight into the room without hesitation. Harry was far more cautious. His fingers tightened on his wand before taking any steps towards the doorway.

When Harry walked through the threshold, every single thought that occupied his mind swiftly vanished. 

They were inside of what could have been loosely classified as a studio flat. 

Harry’s hand limply fell to his side as he rapidly took in his surroundings. 

The limestone walls caved in together to create a low dome ceiling. Harry suspected if he were to reach upwards, his fingertips would be able to brush the dome’s peak. While the walls remained bare aside from an oddly placed mirror, the small room itself was condensed with furniture and, primarily, books. Harry bewilderedly stepped further into the room, his gaze catching on an overflowing bookcase. Well-loved books of all bindings and sizes filled the shelves until they were forced to create towering piles on the floor. 

A kitchenette hugged another tiny portion of the room. There was a black kettle on a stovetop and an empty mug sitting on the adjacent countertop. Harry slowly ran his hand over the sanded surface, birch walnut nearly blending with his own skin tone, and then began to circle the room. 

Aside the countertop was a rickety table. The legs seemed close to buckling under the weight of an ancient gramophone. Unlike the bookshelf that held the contents of an extensive library, Harry could only see one album resting against the table. He tilted his head to read, _ Le Carnaval des Animaux _. Underneath the title were cartoon depictions of an array of animals. Everything from a lion to a tortoise to a swan, could be found in the myriad. 

Continuing his pace, Harry passed a wardrobe and peered around a four-paneled partition. Nestled behind the room divider was a narrow bed. Cream sheets and duvet neatly stretched over the mattress. At the end of the bed was a carefully folded quilt. Harry reluctantly thought of the messy state in which he left his own bed at Grimmauld. 

A muffled sound of a faucet running brought Harry’s gaze away from the quilt and towards the only other door in the room. Kingsley gave him one final disconcerting look when they heard the tap turn off. Harry held his breath as the door opened. 

The man that stepped out of the connected washroom was infuriatingly familiar and somehow impossibly foreign. 

It was Malfoy.

But, at the same time, it wasn’t. 

Harry’s brain couldn’t work fast enough to catalogue the distorted version of the boy he hadn’t seen in almost five years. 

If it wasn’t for the trademark white-blond hair that Harry had spent years actively despising during Hogwarts, he would have sworn this man was a complete stranger. However, where Malfoy had always worn his hair short and slicked back, this man had tresses that tumbled past his shoulders and halfway down his chest. Mindlessly, Harry thumbed one of his own curls that fell almost nearly as long. 

When he was just a boy, Malfoy’s pointed features had transformed his face into something antagonistically repellent. As a young man, however, his sharpened features created something formidably enigmatic. Harry couldn’t tell if that was because his cheeks had hallowed while his the rest of him slightly broadened with lean muscle. 

Muscle that was covered by muggle clothing nonetheless. Harry’s gaze dropped from the blue crew-neck jumper to a pair of speckled grey joggers. In all of his years, Harry had never seen Malfoy dressed in anything remotely casual and now he was strolling about in _ muggle _leisurewear. 

Even with all of _ that _put into consideration, Harry was mainly fixated on a strip of gauzy material that was tied over Malfoy’s eyes. He nearly dropped his wand at the ridiculousness of the entire thing. Harry hadn’t heard a whisper of Malfoy since the trials and here he was, walking around the depths of Gringotts wearing muggle leisurewear and a blindfold. 

Before Harry could break into the tirade that had boiled to a surface, three things happened in very quick succession. 

Malfoy halted his stride into the room and whipped his head from left to right. He swiftly flexed his fore and middle finger before waving them in a sharp severing motion. Harry jolted back as a ring of canary-colored light shot across the room. It pushed itself through Harry, Gannon, and Kingsley. Harry rapidly patted over his front where a bizarre wave of heat felt as if it was exploring his skin. 

“Who is it?”

Harry halted his manic ministrations and looked up to see Malfoy’s body facing him. He was standing straighter than before, the tip of his chin slightly raised. Harry belatedly realized Malfoy was taller than he remembered. Or it was just the size of the room that made him appear that way. Or it was the sudden display of wandless magic. Harry was too discombobulated to tell. 

“What did that spell do, Malfoy?” Harry sputtered with anger. Any tact he previously possessed flew out of the door. 

Malfoy fractionally tilted his head, but remained disturbingly expressionless. “Potter?”

Harry never heard Malfoy say “Potter” with more monotony. Confusion replaced hostility as Harry’s main emotion. Malfoy always, _ always, _had the uncanny ability to layer Harry’s surname with pure venom. Restlessly, he glanced at Kingsley and Robards. The Minister had his bottom lip pinched between his fingers, and the Head Auror looked inordinately pleased. 

Not allowing his own caginess to show, Harry decided to treat Malfoy the way he always had. With purposeful provocation. He scoffed, “Take off the blindfold and see for yourself.” 

After a moment, Malfoy slowly turned towards Kingley’s direction. He folded his arms and stood with bald confidence. “You didn’t tell him.”

Kinglsey released his bottom lip and sounded overly thoughtful about his words. “We thought it would be best...”

“If Potter saw for himself,” Malfoy finished without feeling. 

“Yes.”

Malfoy flatly commented, “How ironic.”

“You better watch your tone,” Robards darkly warned. 

“What tone?” Harry incredulously cut in. He was on the verge of tugging his hair out. A world where Malfoy didn’t respond to Harry’s general existence with melodrama wasn’t feasible. It was material from a parallel universe. Harry shook his head, “He sounds like he’s been hit by Imperio and instructed to have the personality of a wet mop.”

“Close enough,” Malfoy acknowledged. 

“Too far, Draco,” Kingsley warned. 

“Can someone please tell me _ what the fuck is going on _?” Harry’s voice steadily rose to shout. The other three men faced him. His chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. Harry wanted to rip the blindfold off of Malfoy and shake him until he met Harry’s eyes. He needed to see the contempt he felt reflected back at him. 

Kingsley sighed, “Have a seat. Both of you.”

Malfoy strode towards a tufted wingback chair with precise steps. His fingers reached out to touch the left arm of the chair just before he turned to sit down. Harry was enraptured by Malfoy’s movements. Everything was different than Harry remembered. The way he neatly sat with his hands on his lap, posture upright, and head tilted as if he was calculatedly listening for motion. Nothing about him was abrasive like the way he used to be. 

Harry padded towards a maroon couch perpendicular to Malfoy’s chair. Disturbingly, Malfoy was clearly tracking him as he quietly walked. The direction of his head followed exactly where Harry was. Harry stopped halfway to the couch and Malfoy didn’t did miss it. His face remained on him. When Harry silently took just one more step, his weight carefully on the balls of his feet, Malfoy knew it. He lifted an eyebrow, but the rest of his expression was unmoving.

“You’re testing me,” Malfoy stated, his matter-of-fact tone proving he knew exactly what Harry was doing.

Not wanting to confirm what they both knew, Harry deviated. For the second time, he said, “Take the blindfold off.” 

Harry didn’t know why it suddenly seemed like the most important thing in the world for Malfoy to do so. He supposed it was because he knew he could rely on finding some legitimate answer in Malfoy’s eyes. Malfoy had never been good at shuttering his emotions. 

“I will if you sit down,” Malfoy evenly acquiesced and gestured towards the couch. He turned towards Robards. “The sooner I find out why you decided to bring Potter in my home, the better.”

Robards snarled, “Don’t talk to me like that, you insolent—”

“You live here?” Harry spoke over Robards.

Even though all signs led to that conclusion, Harry felt shocked by the admittance as well as the clear lack of disgust from Malfoy when he said it. Malfoy lived in a cramped crevice in a bank and didn’t seem to care. He didn’t seem to care about anything. 

“I do,” Malfoy said without elaboration. 

Harry plopped down on the couch and Malfoy leaned forwards. Even though it was his idea, Harry was startled when Malfoy actually went to untie the material. His arms stretched as he unknotted the blindfold. The movement caused the cuffs of his sweater to slightly slide back. Harry confusedly narrowed his eyes at a thick black line that briefly appeared along Malfoy’s left arm. Malfoy lowered his hands and Harry’s attention was brought back upwards. 

“Oh.”

“Yes, Potter,” Malfoy folded the blindfold and numbly echoed, “_ oh _.”

Malfoy’s eyes were milky, pearl-grey. 

“You’re...you,” Harry thickly stammered, unable to get the words out. 

Malfoy was detachedly staring just to the right of Harry. “I believe the word you’re grappling for is _ blind _.” 

Malfoy was blind. 

Harry’s righteous anger left him in a whiplashing whoosh. He skimmed around the room as if it would give him answers. Both Kingsley and Robards were steadfastly avoiding his gaze. Harry rubbernecked back towards Malfoy when he wrapped the blindfold back around his head. 

Once Malfoy finished, Harry asked barely above a whisper, “What happened?” 

For the first time, Malfoy showed a trace of actual emotion. The corners of his mouth quivered downwards before reverting to a thin line. “The trials.”

Harry frowned, “What does that have to do with you...whatever happened to you?”

“Merlin. You truly didn’t care what happened after the war, did you?” Malfoy said, sounding as if he was confirming something to himself. 

Harry indignantly shot back, “You’ve got to be joking.”

“Why? Does this amuse you?”

Harry’s anger resurfaced. He shook his head and dumbly realized Malfoy couldn’t see him. 

_ Malfoy was blind. _

“That’s not what I meant.” Harry squeezed his hands into fists and gritted out, “Of course I cared about what happened after the war.”

“Allow me to rephrase,” Malfoy propped one elbow on the arm of the chair and rested his chin on his hand. He sounded almost bored when he clarified, “You didn’t care what happened to _ me _ after the war.” 

“That’s not true,” Harry lied. Heat coloured his cheeks. 

“Still have that scar of yours, Potter?” Malfoy calmly asked. When Harry instinctively reached towards his forehead, Malfoy tutted. “Not that one.”

“How’d you know—”

“Because I know you. Whether you like it or not.” Malfoy pointedly wiggled his fingers, “I meant the one on your hand.”

Harry protectively rubbed his fingers over the back of his hand. The pink scars were faded, but they never disappeared. 

_ I must not tell lies. _

He cleared emotion from his throat, “How do you know about my hand?”

“I _ know _ you,” Malfoy steadfastly asserted without further explanation. He sounded too level-headed when he continued to chastise Harry. “Don’t lie and say you cared. You clearly did not because you didn’t even know what my sentence was.” 

“I defended you!” Harry hotly pointed out. He swiveled towards Kingsley and almost beseechingly carried on. “I gave the Minister a written deposition of what happened at Malfoy Manor. And the astronomy tower.” 

Kingley didn’t say anything. 

“Sir?” Harry asked no louder than a whisper. He was vaguely aware he sounded like a scared child. 

Malfoy pinched the bridge of his nose. Harry could see his chest expand with a deep inhale. He lowered his hand, but kept his face turned away from Harry. 

“You left,” Malfoy flatly said. The muscle along his jaw twitched, “I watched you leave.” He shook himself out of his own reverie and he was back to indifference. “Your statement didn’t hold weight without you there to defend it.” 

“No,” Harry vigorously shook his head. “No, that can’t—”

“Harry,” Kinglsey interrupted. Somehow the single address was able to confirm everything Malfoy had said. 

When no one spoke, Robards decided to be the person to break the silence. He clapped his hands together, “I think that’s been enough for one day, don’t you, Minister?” 

“Suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you’re not going to tell me why Potter came here in the first place,” Malfoy deadpanned. He reached towards the ground, his fingertips skimming the air before coming in contact with a book. Malfoy picked it up and opened to a bookmarked page.

Robards ignored the comment and strode to the door. Kingsley tilted his head towards the exit and motioned for Harry to follow the Head Auror’s suit. 

“You can’t be serious,” Harry challenged, looking between Malfoy and the Minister. “I’m not going anywhere until someone starts making a lick of sense. Malfoy’s right, why am I here?” 

Kinglsey was losing his patience. He tersely said, “It’ll make sense in a moment. Now, follow Head Auror Robards out.” 

Harry’s shoulders sagged in a combination of defeat and the weight of Malfoy’s earlier statement. He glanced at Malfoy once more, watching as he waved a hand over the right page of the book. A disembodied voice began to read the book aloud. Malfoy didn’t seem interested in their presence any longer. 

Kingsley, Robards, and Harry left the room without further word. Gannon was still stood outside of the room and straightened his posture at the sight of the three wizards.

“Minister,” Gannon stiffly nodded. 

“We’re going to need the interrogation room,” Kingsley answered without preamble and interestingly enough, walked towards the middle door. 

“Yes, sir,” Gannon dutifully nodded and then unlocked the door. 

They walked through the second door. Harry instantly felt ice insert itself in his veins. The door shut behind them with a metallic _ clink _ and the other men sat themselves around a sterile table. Harry couldn’t move. He was utterly petrified by the view in front of him. 

He was staring into Malfoy’s studio. 

Harry walked closer towards the transparent barrier. He touched the cool glass and understood how he was seeing into the room they had just left. 

“The mirror,” Harry mumbled. He watched Malfoy flick to the next page of his book. Harry cursed, “Merlin, you’ve put in a two-way glass.”

Robards proudly hummed, “My own particular contribution.”

Sadness rooted itself somewhere inside of Harry’s hatred for Malfoy. 

“He doesn’t know.” 

It wasn’t a question, but Kinglsey answered anyways. “No. He doesn’t.”

“You approved this?” Harry turned away from the glass, feeling disgustingly perverse, and faced the Minister. He jutted a thumb over his shoulder towards the glass, “How could you have possibly thought—”

“Mind yourself, Potter,” Robards unkindly cautioned. 

Harry ignored the heading. He hotly pressed on, “Is his sentence surveillance?” 

“House arrest,” Kingsley corrected.

“House arrest?” Harry shrilled, his voice shooting up an octave. “How does a two-way-mirror align with the parameters of house arrest? You’re taking advantage of his…” Harry angrily choked off, unable to voice what he refused to believe. 

“The blindness is temporary,” Kinglsey diplomatically reassured. “The enchantment lasts for one year.”

Robards added, “As did the other hijacks.”

“Other hijacks?” Harry wearily asked. 

“Emotion, touch, and speech,” Robards rattled off almost off-handedly. He abruptly snapped his fingers, “Oh, and first year was Azkaban.”

Harry’s knees buckled. He had to grab the table’s surface to keep himself upright. Bowing his head, Harry let the information swell over him until it drowned him. He squeezed his eyes shut. Malfoy had been abused for the last five years. He couldn’t feel emotion. He couldn’t feel touch. He couldn’t speak. If Harry hadn’t walked out on the trials it wouldn’t have happened. Harry _ never _ would have let that verdict happen. 

“You’ve been torturing him,” Harry quietly spoke. 

Robards shot from his seat and closed in on Harry. He smelled rancid as he breathed down Harry’s neck. “Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater. He got what was coming to him.”

“He was just a boy,” Harry growled back. His magic dangerously crackled beneath his skin.

Robards viciously pointed at the mirror, “Have you forgotten what he’s done, Potter? _ Who _ he is?” 

“I know who he is better than you!” Harry shouted back. 

“Which is exactly why I picked you for this case, Harry.”

Harry and Robards snapped their mouths shut at Kingsley’s comment. 

“What?” Harry barked. At Kingsley’s raised brow, he tacked on a slightly more reserved, “Sir.”

“Head Auror,” Kingsley looked to Robards, “wait for us outside.”

Robards looked like he had been slapped. His cheeks were ruddy and eyes restless as they darted between Harry and the door. He squeaked, “Sir?”

Kinglsey cocked his head towards the door. “Outside.” 

Robards unintelligibly grumbled under his breath as he left the room. 

“You have an incredible way of driving him round the twist,” Kinglsey commented with a faint smile playing over his lips.

Harry couldn’t be bothered with pretence. “Why did you pick me?” 

Kinglsey gestured towards the seat across from him. “Would you like to sit first?”

“_ Kingsley. _”

The Minister breathed deeply, and Harry impatiently waited.

“The deposition you gave for Draco proved you know him better than any Auror we have on our team,” Kinglsey divulged as he steepled his fingers together. He glanced at the mirror. “Draco has been working as a Curse-Breaker for the last three years.” 

Harry’s jaw went slack. 

“As it turns out, his hijacks have strengthened different aspects of his magic rather than..._ hinder _ them.” 

Harry watched a quick collision of guilt and embarrassment pass over the Minister's face. He read between the lines of what Kingsley accidentally inferred. 

“You were trying to force the magic out of him,” Harry took a deliberate step back from the table. “To make Malfoy a squib.”

“Like I said,” Kingsley carefully sidestepped the accusation, “his magic has adapted to his circumstances.”

“Circumstances,” Harry scoffed. “That what we’re calling it?” 

“Deciding the correct sentence for every Death Eater wasn’t an easy job,” Kinglsey appealed, and Harry could hear the earnestness in his voice. 

Harry turned his back to Kingsley. He forced himself to shove away the disgust he couldn’t help but feel towards the Minister. They all played their part in Malfoy’s fate. What made him any better than Kingsley? 

Harry felt shocked beyond relief and was rendered numb. With a deadenned voice, he asked, “Why Malfoy?”

“He’s the only Curse-Breaker who can manage completely wandless.”

“Was his wand snapped?”

“Yes.”

Harry suspected as much, but it didn’t ease the uncomfortable feeling in his gut. 

“Do you know what spell he used earlier?” Harry eventually asked, turning around to look at Kingsley. “With the light?”

Kingsley nodded and stood from his seat. He slowly walked around the table as he explained, “It senses an individual’s magical signature, which allows the caster to know who’s in a room with them.” 

The Minister chuckled at the way Harry’s eyes widened. Harry touched over his stomach where he had felt the tingling heat roaming over his skin. “Do you mean…” 

“He will know when you’re in a room with him, yes.”

Harry nodded, unsure why Malfoy knowing his magical signature felt oddly intimate. He wasn’t sure what to say. Instead, he returned to his original inquiry. “You still haven’t explained what you’d like me to do.”

Kingsley stopped beside Harry, and both of them stared out of the double-glass. Malfoy hadn’t moved from his position on the tufted chair. After a moment, Kingsley explained, “Draco hasn’t been outside in five years. The only people he’s been in contact with in recent years are Gannon, Robards, Healer Blackshaw, and myself.”

“He’s been seeing a Healer?”

“Of course. It was actually Healer Blackshaw’s idea to give him the blindfold. She enchanted it to block out light. Apparently, it bothers his eyes.” He glimpsed at Harry from the corner of his eye. “We’re not as cold-hearted as you’re thinking.”

Harry didn’t placate him, but re-worked the words over and over in his head. He couldn’t remember Malfoy reacting badly to the lights when he took the blindfold off. Then again, Malfoy could be detrimentally stubborn when he wanted to make a point. It was one of the few things they had in common. 

The Minister carried on when Harry didn’t speak. “Healer Blackshaw reckons he’s stable enough to be taken on-site. Robards...has his hesitations.”

“I bet,” Harry derisively muttered. 

Kingsley sighed but didn’t reprimand Harry’s tone. He continued on, “We came to a compromise. Since you will be the Auror partnering with Draco, we want you to do a preliminary three day assessment. Study him. Determine what you make of his stability and skills. If you believe he is strong and safe enough, we will take him on the case.” 

“No pressure, then,” Harry stiffly joked. 

Harry mulled over Kingsley’s words. He rubbed the back of his neck and began to pace the small room. In a warped way, Harry felt as if he owed Malfoy another chance. As quickly as the thought entered Harry’s mind, though, his ingrained hatred toward Malfoy battled his empathetic nature. 

Plucking his glasses off his nose, Harry held his face in his hands. He forced himself to keep a clear head. Malfoy committed crimes, and he was paying for them. It had been nearly five years, though. Malfoy _ had _ paid for them. Harry couldn’t help but glance back at the double-mirror. He quickly made up his mind.

“I’ll do it on one condition,” Harry said before he could overthink it any further. He pointed at the mirror. “This comes down. Today.” 

If Kingsley was surprised by the request, he did a good job hiding it. He curiously stared at Harry’s determined expression. “It would prove helpful to observe him.”

“It comes down,” Harry firmly re-stated, leaving zero room for disagreement. 

Kingsley stared at the mirror for a long moment. He nodded. “Alright. I’ll have Gannon remove it once we leave.”

“Good.”

Kingsley cautiously implored, “You do understand Draco will be your responsibility. If you clear him and he goes rogue...it’ll be on your head.”

Malfoy abruptly closed his book and turned towards the double-mirror. Harry felt pinned to the spot. He subconsciously rolled his wand between his fingertips even though Malfoy couldn’t possibly know Harry was watching. When Malfoy finally faced away, Harry numbly accepted that he was about to do something extremely idiotic. 

“Yeah,” Harry heavily exhaled. “I understand.”


	2. Two

Harry allowed the Firewhisky to sit on his tongue for a few moments before swallowing down the malty liquid. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and pointedly ignored the six pairs of eyes that were ogling him. 

“Can I watch Bass when you disappear into oblivion?” 

“Absolutely not.” Harry outright snorted at the request. He tilted his nearly empty glass towards Luna, “I know you’re the one who gave him polka-dots on Boxing Day. For weeks all I heard about was how handsome he thought he looked and how horrible I was for changing him back. Besides, he’s coming with me because like I’ve said twice already, I’m not disappearing.”

“No, you’re just not telling us where you’re going,” Ron pointed out. 

“Or for how long you’re going,” Hermione worriedly added. 

Neville tilted his tumbler from left to right. “Or what you’re doing.”

“Oh,” Ginny perked up and excitedly joined in, “or, _ why _ you’re going.” 

Harry grinned at her ruddy expression. He shook his head, “Nice try. I told you it was for work.”

“Nah, too vague.” Red wine sloshed dangerously close to the rim of Ginny’s glass as she waved him off. “Doesn’t count.” 

Harry snorted, finished off his drink, and heavily rested his head on his hand. Conversation began to flow around him, but he was quickly losing focus. The weight of the day washed over him with a startling force as if it had purposefully been waiting to release all at once. His shoulders slumped under the pressure as he submerged himself in bitter remorse for Malfoy. 

Vaguely, he registered the sensation wasn’t entirely foreign. It was similar to how he had felt at the end of sixth year. That terrified him. Everything always went wrong when Harry became hyper-focused on Malfoy, and now he was about to do so willingly. 

Briefly, he shut his eyes as if it would expel the memories. His grip tightened around the whiskey glass. The image of Malfoy blankly staring past him unwillingly appeared behind his eyelids. Disgust for and towards Malfoy rolled throughout Harry. He hadn’t even realized he’d forcibly stood from the table until he was staring at the startled expressions of his friends.

“Harry!” Hermione quavered. Her eyes darted from his face to the visible tremors in his hands. 

“Sorry, sorry.” He stammered. Embarrassment pinkened Harry’s cheeks. “I’m just…”

Furious? Scared? Confused? Sad?

Harry’s facial features scrunched in bewilderment. He didn’t know what he was, but he knew he needed to be alone. 

“I’m gonna head out.” 

“Head out?” Ron incredulously repeated. He wildly gestured towards the filling pub, “It’s barely eight on a Friday!” 

“Yeah, but,” Harry rubbed over the bracelet on his right wrist, “I have an early start tomorrow. Y’know how it is.”

Ron’s shoulders disappointedly sagged. “No, I don’t because you won’t tell us anything.” 

“Leave him be,” Ginny protectively stepped in, sounding impressively sober all of the sudden. “If Robards doesn’t want Harry to talk about it, that’s not Harry’s fault.”

Harry offered her an appreciative grimace. “Thanks, Gin.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She shooed him off with a wave of her hand, “Go on, then. Save the world. Whatever noble shit it is you gotta do.”

After a relatively reluctant chorus of goodbyes, Harry closed out his tab at the bar and left. 

It was the last day of April and while the weather was steadily turning warmer, Harry still felt chilled as he began his trek to Grimmauld Place. Crisp evening wind swirled around him and lifted his hair from his neck. It was about a twenty minute walk back home, but Harry figured he could use the time to detangle his thoughts. 

Harry frowned and kicked a pebble with the toe of his boot, sending the small stone cascading into the street. He kept his eyes on the pavement as he thought about Kingsley’s instructions. Three days of closely observing Malfoy. Alone. 

The last time Harry was alone with Malfoy…

He jolted to a stop at the memory of Malfoy splayed on the floor of the lavatories. Blood thickly poured out of his frail body and Harry couldn’t do anything to stop it. He hadn’t even tried to stop it. 

“What the fuck am I doing?” Harry miserably mumbled to himself. 

“Gettin’ in people’s way, is what’re doin’,” a tobacco gruff voice answered. 

He jerked towards the left as a businessman shoved past him. Harry garbled out a “sorry, mate” and the boulder-shaped man responded by flipping him off. After a few moments of dumbly staring at the retreating figure, Harry shook himself and kept walking. 

As he strode, notably faster than before, Harry mentally checked off what he had packed in his duffel bag. It took him longer to pack than he would ever admit aloud because everything felt like a controversial item. Roughly ten minutes of indecision had been dedicated to obsessively packing and unpacking his most recent Weasley Christmas jumper. He finally shoved it into his bag after remembering Malfoy couldn’t even see what the hell he would be wearing. 

Sufficient to say, Harry had felt like an idiot. 

He took a left onto his street and began to drag his feet. What was he even meant to talk to Malfoy about? It wasn’t as if they could sit in silence for three days straight. Was Harry allowed to directly ask about the sentence? How it felt to, well, not feel at all? He shook his head to himself. Malfoy would snap his wandless fingers and shred Harry into ribbons of skin for asking. Although, New Malfoy didn’t seem to have any of his old character whatsoever. 

What if he did allow Harry to question him? What if Malfoy blankly affirmed Harry’s worst thoughts imaginable without a shred of despair in his tone? He wasn’t sure which option would be more distressing. The moment the thought occurred, Harry instantly felt guilty for only thinking of how Malfoy’s sentence made him uncomfortable. He wasn’t the one who had to live it. 

As swiftly as the guilt came, it left. 

Restrained magic viciously reared its head inside of Harry’s chest and he was vibrating with indignance once more. 

It was Malfoy. Malfoy who was a bigoted blond bastard. Malfoy who plotted to kill Dumbledore and was willing to let others die along the way. Harry’s traitorous conscience stepped in to reminded him that Malfoy lowered his wand. The deposition he gave put that fact into stark black ink. The same deposition that he didn’t defend when it counted. 

Harry groaned, the sound echoing off the surrounding buildings. His walk home hadn’t helped declutter his mind in the slightest. 

****

_ “Tearing me from home.” _

Harry slung his duffel bag over his shoulder. _ “Now you’re just being dramatic.” _

_ “Forced to live in cave. Never to see the sun again. Sad, sad, sad life.” _

_ “It’s not a cave, Bass.” _ Harry stopped his movements to pointedly lift an eyebrow at his moody Ball Python. _ “We’re not staying forever, and a nice tank for you is already there. It’ll be like home.” _

The three-foot snake flopped his head over the back of Harry’s desk chair as if to give his best ‘woe is me’ pose. Admittedly, Bass had gotten quite good at it during the last year. Harry blamed the daytime television he was convinced to keep on during work. He checked the watch on his wrist that Mrs. Weasley had given to him years ago. He sighed. They were definitely going to be late. 

_ “If you behave yourself, I’ll let you have spots for a day.” _

Harry wasn’t above bribery. 

_ “Week.” _

He also wasn’t above compromise for the sake of saving time. 

_ “Fine,” _ Harry rolled his eyes. _ “One week with spots.” _

Bass immediately lifted his head. A happy litany of _ spots, spots, spots _ was being chanted at Harry. He supposed this is what he deserved for buying an entirely leucistic snake with a complex. With a loop and swish of his wand, black spots dotted Bass’ white scales. 

_ “Have given me spots! Now am exotic! Exquisite!” _

_ “Very exquisite,” _ Harry drily agreed and picked up the delighted Python. Bass finally allowed himself to be draped around Harry’s neck without wiggling away. He stroked Bass’ head with two fingers, _ “Remember to hold on while we Floo.” _

_ “Have no arms. No legs. Am snake.” _

_ “Yes, I’m aware,” _ Harry sighed, losing what patience he had for his companion. _ “You know what I meant.” _

_ “No limbs,” _ Bass hissed as he wrapped himself around Harry’s arms, _ “but can hug.” _

Harry couldn’t help his affectionate grin. 

After gathering his hair in a messy bun, they were finally ready. He did a last check to make sure he had everything gathered and then walked towards the fireplace. Grabbing Floo Powder from its pot, Harry stepped past the hearth and announced, “Gringotts number twenty-three.” 

Kingsley had arranged a direct connection between Grimmauld and the Gringotts fireplace where Harry would be staying. They all agreed the Chosen One regularly visiting restricted portions of the bank would lead to unease and speculation. Once the fire subsided, he walked into the room that would be his home for the un-foreseeable future. 

The studio was almost an exact replica of Malfoy’s, but it felt unbelievably colder. While Malfoy’s studio was visibly well lived in, Harry couldn’t imagine ever inhabiting the space that surrounded him. Let alone being able to call it a home. 

There weren't copious amounts of books lying around. No, the floor was spotless to the point of it resembling a beige hospital ward. Harry noted a rectangular wireless was left for him, but it didn’t have the same effect of a single vinyl on the brink of being worn out from attention. Harry’s studio even lacked mismatched ceramic mugs that would help make any space remotely charming. The eclecticity Malfoy brought to his studio was what made it feel like a home. Harry wasn’t sure why, but it made Malfoy seem incredibly more human. 

Harry walked towards a terrarium that had been set up in the exact same place as Malfoy’s gramophone. It was extremely disorienting, and Harry was already longing for the familiar creaky floorboards of Grimmauld. 

_ “Mine?” _

Blinking out of his stupor, Harry nodded. _ “Yours.” _

The snake loosened his hold on Harry so he could be placed into the wide tank. Bass’ forked tongue was poking out and tasting the air around him. Harry pulled out his wand and cast a cursory strengthening charm on the table, not fully trusting it to hold a glass tank and significantly sized reptile. He watched Bass explore the new terrain for a moment and then cast tempus. Harry was officially six minutes behind schedule. 

_ “I’ll be back,” _ Harry hissed and dropped his bag on top of the bed. 

Harry left the room with only his wand on his person. He stopped in front of Malfoy’s door and stared at the metal. A unique sense of nervousness was wracking him. Harry raised his hand and hesitated for a brief second before knocking. 

Muffled by the barrier, Malfoy’s responding dry voice could barely be heard. “No point in knocking. I can’t open the door, Potter.”

“Shit,” Harry muttered to himself. 

He really was an idiot. 

Harry laid his palm flat on the center of the door, and the locking mechanism unhinged. Kingsley had given Harry admittance to Malfoy’s room and while he felt incredibly invasive by walking right inside, he supposed that there wasn’t a way around it.

Pushing the door open, Harry walked into Malfoy’s studio. It was exponentially different than the first time for two reasons. The first being that now Harry knew who resided there, he was impossibly more on edge than before. The second being that after having seen the bare studio Harry was to occupy, Malfoy’s home seemed strangely welcoming. Harry glimpsed towards his right and was relieved to see the mirror was gone. 

“Seven minutes late.”

The familiarity that came with Malfoy scolding him, even if it was spoken as a fact and not blind contempt, helped relieve the tightness that had knotted itself along Harry’s spine. He shut the door behind him and turned towards the kitchenette where a blindfolded Malfoy stood. 

Malfoy was wearing muggle clothing again. However, this time his jumper was cream. The color was a few shades darker than his skin tone. Grasped between his slender hands was an olive mug that had plumes of steam filling the air above it. A floral scent filled Harry’s nose, and he swiveled his head towards a lit candle on top of the bookshelf. 

“Is that safe?” Harry gestured toward the open flame. 

“Be specific when you’re talking to me.”

Harry immediately bristled, “No need to be an arse already, Malfoy.”

He sighed, dragging Harry’s attention away from the candle and back to him. Malfoy carefully put his mug down on the kitchen counter. He folded his arms, and Harry remembered the flash of black he had seen on Malfoy’s forearm the day before. 

“I wasn’t being rude,” Malfoy evenly said. He pointedly tapped two fingers against the gauze at his temple. “If you’re not specific, I have no way of knowing what you’re talking about.” 

“Oh.” Harry’s ears pinkened.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “So?”

“So...what?” Harry uncomfortably dragged out. He hadn’t been in the studio for five minutes, and he already wanted out. 

“Is what safe?” Malfoy asked and Harry wished he sounded more impatient about it. 

“Oh. The open flame surrounded by books. I mean, you can’t exactly—”

Harry snapped his mouth shut and winced. It probably wasn’t smart to point out to a blind person that they couldn’t see what they were doing. He clasped his hands behind his neck and waited for the ground to swallow him whole.

“Do tell me, Potter,” Malfoy drawled and took a step in Harry’s direction, “what is it that I can’t do?”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“What were you going to say?” Malfoy easily cut him off. 

Harry breathed deeply. Malfoy took another step closer, and it felt like he was slowly being hunted by a shark. He shoved his discomfort down and then answered, “You can’t exactly see what you’re doing.”

Malfoy stopped walking. There was a pause where Harry had no idea what Malfoy was going to do to him. Silently, he slipped his wand from its holster and waited for the other man to make the next move. What he didn’t expect was for Malfoy to do, well, nothing.

Malfoy simply shook his head, spun on his heel, and strode to the sink. 

“Tea?” Malfoy monotonously enquired. 

“What?” Harry asked disbelievingly. “That’s it? You’re not gonna curse me or,” he flailed his hands in the air as he sifted through his memory for past jibes, “tell me off for not having etiquette because I was raised by muggles?”

“No,” Malfoy shortly responded. Harry gaped at him as he raised a box of English Breakfast for Harry to see. “Now, would you like tea or not?”

Harry’s hands numbly dropped to his side. He sighed and muttered, “Sure.”

His world had sufficiently turned itself on its head. At what point did he start to prefer being hexed by Malfoy rather than offered tea like a civil person? Perhaps it was because he knew he would deserve it this time. Harry put his wand away.

When Malfoy grabbed another mug from a cabinet, Harry took a few strides towards him. “Do you need help?”

Sharply, Malfoy flicked two fingers towards the stovetop. A small flame poofed underneath the kettle. He slightly turned his head over his shoulder towards Harry’s direction. “I don’t need help.”

“I didn’t ask because...” Harry halted and became increasingly frustrated with himself. Truly, he would have asked Hermione that same question. It was the polite thing to do. He wrung his hands together and stiltedly amended, “I just meant, would you like some help?”

Malfoy faced forwards and didn’t miss a beat. “No.” 

“Right,” Harry quietly sighed. 

“How do you take your tea?”

“Milky,” Harry said. Unwillingly, he thought of the way Malfoy’s eyes looked. 

Restlessly, he turned away from Malfoy and strode towards the bookshelf. He listlessly ran his fingers over the spines, but he wasn’t fully retaining what any of the titles were. Harry kept glancing at Malfoy’s profile. He catalogued the way Malfoy seemed to always keep his chin slightly upwards. His expression remained placid as his hands deftly moved with striking ease. 

“Just sit down if you’re going to fidget.” 

Harry instantly stopped flexing and unflexing his fingers. He hadn’t even noticed he was doing it. Cocking his head, he wondered, “How could you tell?” Before Malfoy could respond, Harry quickly added, “And for Merlin’s sake, don’t tell me it’s because you know me.”

Malfoy picked up both mugs and nodded towards the couch Harry sat on last time. Harry went and watched Malfoy navigate his way towards him. Malfoy paused by the couch and reached out with one of the mugs. Harry scooted closer and took it from Malfoy’s grasp without allowing their skin to brush. Malfoy stepped away and reached out for his chair. He primply sat down and crossed one leg over the other, easily evoking every ounce of his pureblood upbringing with the position. 

“I can feel your magic.”

Harry nearly choked on his drink. He coughed and sputtered out, “Excuse me?”

Malfoy raised his shoulder with a faint shrug and took a sip from his mug. 

“No,” Harry sat forward on the cushion, “you’re not getting out of saying that with a shrug.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Malfoy matter-of-factly said in a way that somehow didn’t sound completely demeaning. 

“You’re gonna have to at least let me try,” Harry gritted. 

“Have to?” Malfoy mused without sounding particularly interested. 

“I mean, I won’t force you,” Harry instantly backpedaled. He took a long sip from his drink, the rich taste of the tea saturating his tongue. He mulled over what he wanted to say before settling on, “Kingsely told you why I’m here, yeah?”

“I’m under observation. That’s nothing new.”

“I’m not here as your patrol.” Harry sagged against the couch and ran his palms over his thighs. “It’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it?” Malfoy leaned back against the chair and rhythmically tapped the tips of his fingers over his knee. He paused to point in the direction where the mirror used to hang. “Gannon watches me everyday. The only difference is that you’re choosing to do it in the same room as me.”

Harry blanched. He fish-mouthed for something to say. _ Gannon watches me everyday. _The way the statement had easily rolled off Malfoy’s tongue made Harry’s stomach churn. He knew there had to be a reason why warning bells immediately chimed when he met the guard. The sick git. Harry wanted to shout at Malfoy for likening him to the guard, but he couldn’t formulate a coherent sentence. Digging his fingers into his thighs, he tried to rein in his emotions. 

When it was clear Harry couldn’t muster anything to say, Malfoy derisively intoned, “You thought I didn’t know?” 

Harry was able to manage a disbelieving, “How?” 

Malfoy let out an unimpressed noise. “A mirror with a sticking charm on it hanging in a prisoner’s room? It doesn’t take a professional to sort that one out.” He dully added, “No offense, Auror.”

“Don’t call me that.” Harry irrately said, hating how the word sounded coming from Malfoy’s lips. He shook his head, “And you’re not a prisoner anymore. It’s house arrest.”

Malfoy raised his mug to his lips and murmured under his breath, “Semantics.”

“Anyways,” Harry slightly raised his voice, “the actual difference between Gannon and me is that I got them to take down the mirror instead of using it to spy on you. So.”

Malfoy froze in the middle of a sip. He lowered his mug. “What?”

Harry shrugged and belatedly elaborated, “It’s gone.”

Taking Harry off guard, Malfoy put down his tea and stalked towards the wall with purposeful strides. Malfoy reached out and ran his hand over the bare wall. When he didn’t find anything, he went further down the wall and meticulously raised his other hand to trace over the limestone as well. Harry felt ill watching Malfoy’s search to see if Robards had moved the mirror to a new place. 

When he didn’t find anything, Malfoy spun around and brusquely asked, “Why?” 

“Why?” Harry obtusely repeated.

He folded his arms and straightened his posture. “Why did you do it?”

Harry’s brows pulled together, “Because it was wrong?” 

Malfoy turned back around. He pressed his hand flat against the wall and lowered his head. His long hair shrouded his profile from Harry’s view. 

“Malfoy,” Harry put his own drink down and slowly stood, “it’s not there. I promise.”

Thick silence hung between them for an immeasurable time. 

“A promise from Harry Potter,” Malfoy contemplated with a whisper. He dragged his fingertips downwards with a gentleness that rivaled a caress. His hands dropped to his side. “Imagine that.” 

Harry didn’t know what to make of the sentiment. Something about it made his magic crawl beneath his skin like an itch. Shoving the feeling away, Harry shifted gears back towards his original point. “I have to observe you to see if we can work together on a case. I can’t do that if you don’t trust me enough to be transparent.” 

“Trust you?” Malfoy repeated, and he turned around. His mask of indifference was perfectly in place. He neatly tucked the hair that had fallen in front of his face back behind his ear. 

“Yeah, it’s something people try from time to time,” Harry sarcastically remarked. 

“Why?” 

Harry felt compelled to smash his head against the wall. “Are you really asking me why people trust other people? Are you that thick?” 

“No. Why should I trust you?” Malfoy asked as he walked away from the wall and back to his chair. 

Harry took off his glasses and wiped a frustrated hand over his face. Trying not to sound as if he was speaking to a toddler, Harry asked, “Why wouldn’t you?”

Malfoy had his answer ready the moment the question left Harry’s lips. “You don’t trust me.”

“You’ve never given me a reason to,” Harry hastily shot back, his voice steadily climbing an octave. 

“Haven’t I?”

Harry reared back as if he had been shocked. “What’re you going on about?”

“I didn’t name you.”

His anger scourged through him until he only saw red. Not bothering to think it through, Harry scrambled to his feet and forcibly grabbed Malfoy by the collar. He roughly tugged him forwards before shoving him right back against the chair. Harry leaned in until they were almost nose to nose. 

“All the shit you put me through for years,” Harry slammed Malfoy back again for emphasis. “Making my life miserable. Making my friends miserable.” His hold tightened as he condemned Malfoy, “You’re not a good person just because you did one right thing.”

“I said you could trust me.” Malfoy clarified, “I didn’t say I was a good person.”

“Fuck you,” Harry growled.

Malfoy turned his head to the side and said nothing. He had barely reacted to Harry’s outburst at all. It only infuriated Harry more. He wanted Malfoy to hit him. 

“Fight back.”

Malfoy did nothing. 

“Did you hear me?” he demanded as he slid his left hand upwards to grip Malfoy’s jaw. Malfoy’s pale complexion looked like snow underneath Harry’s hand. Harry maneuvered his face forwards. Malfoy didn’t resist for even a split second. Confusion surged with Harry’s anger. 

His right hand snaked upwards, and he hooked his thumb underneath Malfoy’s blindfold. Malfoy evenly exhaled, his warm breath fanning over Harry’s skin. Harry threateningly pulled on the gauze but didn’t remove it. 

“Hit me, Malfoy.”

Malfoy firmly pressed his lips together. 

Harry gradually released his grip on Malfoy’s jaw. His mouth turned downwards as his left hand mirrored his right. The blindfold’s material was unexpectedly buttery underneath the pads of his fingers. Harry paused. 

Almost at a whisper, Harry said, “Fight me back.”

Malfoy slowly reached upwards and looped his fingers around Harry’s wrists. Harry’s eyes widened at the cold touch. He looked down at his hands as Malfoy slowly pulled them away from his face. Harry gradually lowered them while the blond shifted to pull his blindfold off. 

When Malfoy rested his head back, his chest raised with a deep inhale. On the exhale, Harry numbly watched as Malfoy blinked his eyes open. This time Harry didn’t miss the way Malfoy minutely winced from the overhead light. Malfoy’s pupils listlessly shifted before locking on where Harry’s shoulder was. He reached out towards Harry. 

Harry dryly swallowed. “What are you doing?”

Without answering the question, Malfoy placed both of his hands flat on Harry’s chest. His gaze slipped down to watch in dumbfoundment as Malfoy’s fingers curled into the soft fabric of his shirt. Without having to apply much pressure, Malfoy made Harry take a step backwards. 

They were toe to toe when Malfoy stood to his full height. Harry had to slightly angle his head upwards, and if he hadn’t been discombobulated, he likely would have felt more irritated by the height difference. Without an ounce of his old fanfare, Malfoy released his grip from Harry’s shirt. Harry shallowly breathed and waited. 

When Malfoy spoke, his voice was eerily deadened.

“Nothing you do can get to me. Not anymore.” Malfoy clasped his hands behind his back and angled the height of his cheekbone towards Harry. “You want to hurt me, Potter? Go on, then. Hit me.”

The longer Malfoy’s words rang in the air, the more coherent Harry became. It felt as if he had been submerged in a drunken haze and was abrasively ripped back to sobriety. Harry jerked back from Malfoy. He held his hands to his chest as though they would swing out of their own accord. Harry stumbled backwards and didn’t stop until he was at the door.

“I’m—”

I’m sorry? 

Harry didn’t know what he was. 

So, he left. 

He fled from the room, slamming the metal door behind him, and stormed back into his studio. 

_ “Came back to me. Was too quiet.” _

Harry completely ignored Bass as he frantically ripped open the zipper to his bag. He tore through his belongings with desperate movements. Shakily, he pulled out a bottle of Dreamless Sleep. Harry didn’t care that Healer Cleary warned him against the terrible coping mechanism. He didn’t even care that it hadn’t reached midday yet. All he cared about was forgetting the way Malfoy was willing to let Harry hurt him. 

Uncorking the glass bottle, Harry took three swigs of the potion and took off his glasses. He staggered towards the made bed and collapsed on top of the covers. Harry’s knees curled toward his chest as he turned his head into a pillow. His jackrabbit heart steadily began to slow while his eyelids drooped. 

Two minutes later, Harry was plunged into a deep sleep. 

****

When Harry woke eight hours later, he was completely disoriented by his surroundings and overindulgence of rest. As memories unwillingly flooded back, he groaned and shoved his face back into the sleep-warm pillow. Robards would likely kill him if he found out that Harry had decided to abandon his job for an elongated nap. He rolled onto his back and sighed. 

“I have to go back,” Harry miserably grumbled to himself. 

_ “Can’t understand you.” _

Harry waved a hand in the general direction of Bass’ terrarium._ “I wasn’t talking to you.” _

_ “No one else here.” _

With creaking joints, Harry pushed himself upright into a sitting position. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed with more difficulty than usual. His body felt lethargic from paying the price of mental exhaustion. Harry couldn’t believe he had assaulted Malfoy and then practically begged for a fight. He scrubbed his hands over his face and then looked down at the floor. 

_ “Oh.” _ He tilted his head to the side. _ “How’d you get there?” _

Bass was coiled inside the duffel that had been tossed to the floor. He slithered from the warm confines and looped around Harry’s ankle. 

_ “Escaped,” _he said simply.

A line appeared between his brows as he studied Bass’ temporary tank. The screen that had covered the top of the terrarium was knocked askew. He should have known better than to think the snake would have accepted staying in his tank all day. Bass had always shown an unlikely affinity towards adventure for being a Ball Python. 

Reaching down, Harry gathered Bass in his hands and hung the snake from his neck. He reluctantly decided, _ “I’m gonna need your help making someone forgive me.” _

Bass elicited a noise that essentially summed up the sentiment ‘of course you do.’

_ “Save the lecture, alright? It’s already been a shit day,” _Harry petulantly said. 

Unable to put it off any longer, they left the studio. Bass swung his head in the air to take in his new surroundings. Harry stopped in front of Malfoy’s door and waited until Bass was ready to pay attention.

_ “No biting. No choking. No fast movements, alright?” _Harry sternly said. 

Bass leveled Harry with an impressive look. _ “Am always fast.” _

_ “Glad that’s what you’re focussing on,” _ Harry shook his head. _ “But, I mean it. You can’t wiggle around. He won’t be able to see you and you might...confuse him.” _

Harry nearly said _ scare _, but it seemed that Malfoy didn’t have that ability anymore.

“_Can’t miss my spots. _” The snake indignantly responded and pointedly coiled his spotted tail tighter around Harry’s arm. 

“_He’s blind, Bass, _” he sibilated. 

Guiltily, Harry thought of the way he had almost ripped the blindfold off of Malfoy. With the memory came a definitive need to salvage what he could of the situation. All he had to do was keep his emotions under control and have an even head. If he didn’t, the case would be jeopardized, and as far as he was aware, there wasn’t a Plan B. Malfoy was their sole legitimate shot and Harry had botched his assignment within a half hour.

Bass loosened his hold on Harry and sounded more congenial than Harry had ever heard, “_Will be good. _”

“_Thanks_,” Harry murmured with relief and pet the scales just behind Bass’s jaw. 

Resolutely, he knocked on the door and waited.

“Did you manage to forget what I told you?” a bored voice said from inside. “I can’t open the door.”

Determined to scrub away the choices he made that morning, Harry didn’t verbally answer but purposefully knocked again. His fingers restlessly thrummed against the side of his leg as he waited. 

“C’mon, Malfoy,” Harry pleaded under his breath. 

Absolute silence. 

Harry knocked again. 

And again.

And again.

****

_ “Am cold.” _

Harry’s head jerked upwards and he wearily blinked back to attention. Miserably, he hissed back,_ “Me, too. Just a bit longer.” _

Bass’ snoot popped out of the hem of Harry’s shirt. _ “Already said that.” _

_ “I know,” _Harry sagged lower on the floor and weakly casted Tempus. It was nearing eleven. 

He was slumped against the wall by Malfoy’s door, having given up standing after the first hour of relentless knocking. After the second hour, Bass cozied himself inside of Harry’s shirt, and Harry’s persistence began to significantly flag. It seemed three hours of waiting for a convicted felon was both of their limits.

Struggling more than he would like to admit, Harry readjusted Bass and clambered to his feet. He stared at the door he had been hyper-focused on for the entire evening. Just as he was about to give in and try again in the morning, Harry heard shuffling from the other side of the barrier. 

It sounded as if a bed spring had creaked. Harry’s exhaustion evaporated with a whoosh of adrenaline. He restlessly shifted his weight from foot to foot. For a moment, there weren’t any signs of movement. Harry gnawed on his bottom lip and he leaned in closer towards the door until his ear was almost pressed against it. Then, the faint pad of footsteps lightly echoed. 

“Potter?”

Harry gripped either side of the doorway and bowed his head. A slightly delirious grin was splitting his face at the nearly inaudible address. 

Exhaling with a breathless chuckle, Harry asked, “Are you gonna invite me in or not?” 

He squeezed his eyes shut as he waited for the verdict. 

“Come in.”

Immediately, Harry pressed his palm flat against the frigid metal and opened the door. The pitch-black studio was swiftly illuminated by light spilling in from the foyer. Malfoy took an immediate step backwards and slipped into the darkness as if he were a ghost. Harry closed the door behind him and at the sound, overhead lights in the studio flickered on. 

Malfoy stood across the room wearing a black dressing gown and silky pajama bottoms. His hair was draped over the front of his shoulder in a loose plait. Although the bandana had been abandoned, Malfoy’s eyes were resolutely shut. Harry glanced at the light above them. Decidedly, he waved his wand and muttered, “Nox.”

They were left in complete darkness, and Harry instinctively held his hands out to keep his balance. 

“Come back to shout some more?” Malfoy queried. He monotonously advised, “You’ll need light to get a good punch in.” 

“Um, no,” Harry unsteadily began. “I wanted to apologize. To you. For before.” 

Harry winced at his own staccatoed cadence. 

“Eloquent.”

“I shouldn’t have lost my temper,” Harry said, ignoring the dull snipe. “Definitely shouldn’t have hurt you and,” he forced himself to continue, “asked you to do the same." 

“You didn’t hurt me,” Malfoy mellowly corrected. 

“Well,” Harry noisily huffed, “fine. I still shouldn’t have lost my temper. It wasn’t appropriate.” 

“When have you ever cared about being appropriate?” 

Harry narrowed his eyes in an attempt to adjust to his surroundings, but it was useless. He grudgingly answered, “When I became an Auror and had to grow up.” 

Malfoy quietly scoffed and the sound was significantly closer than before. Harry whipped his head from side to side. It quickly proved to be a mistake because the quick movement made him heavily teeter towards his left. 

“_Slipping_!” a panicked voice hissed.

Harry jerked back upright and protectively cradled Bass to his chest. He reassuringly soothed, _ “You’re fine. It’s okay. You’re fine.” _

“Potter,” Malfoy slowly began, “did you bring a snake with you?”

“Sorta?” Harry’s voice pinched at an odd, off-key timbre. 

“You _ sorta _ brought a snake into my room?”

“He was meant to be a peace offering.” Harry’s nose scrunched and there was a distinct hint of laughter laced in his response. The oddity of the gesture was settling in, and everything about the situation was suddenly comical to him. There Harry was, standing in the dark, offering up the company of a three-foot python as a warped form of peace treaty between a blind Malfoy and himself. 

“I’m an idiot.” 

“You are,” Malfoy muttered directly in front of him. The closeness made Harry flinch, and when he felt the brush of fingers on the back of his hand, he jerked backwards. His pulse quickened to a maddening pace as Malfoy assertively got ahold of his wrist. Malfoy sighed, “Now that we agree you’re an idiot, do us both a favor and sit down before you break something.”

“Fine,” Harry reluctantly agreed.

Harry slightly tripped over his feet when Malfoy abruptly tugged him in the direction of what he hoped was the couch. Bass tightened himself around Harry’s shoulders in confusion. Malfoy brusquely came to a stop and pushed Harry backwards. 

“Merlin!” Harry startled as he fell backwards. Just as he was prepared to land on his arse, the couch caught his fall. “Warn a man next time.” 

“You chose to turn the lights back off.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “It was meant to be a nice gesture.”

Malfoy silently turned the lights back on without warning. Harry shielded his eyes at first. When he had blinked enough to adjust to the jarring brightness, he was surprised to see the blindfold was knotted back in place over Malfoy’s eyes. 

One of Malfoy’s eyebrows arched. “Better?” 

“You’re not the easiest person to apologize to, you know?” Harry groused. He lowered his upper body to help Bass slither off of him and down onto the floor where he could explore. 

Malfoy leisurely pointed between them. “Pot meet kettle.”

“When have you ever apologized for anything?” 

Malfoy opened his mouth to respond and then firmly shut it. He turned his head to the side and mindlessly thumbed over the sash of his robe. Harry could tell Malfoy was holding back. 

“Go on, say whatever you’re thinking.”

Malfoy flattened his hands on the tops of his thighs. Devoid of feeling, he answered, “I apologized at my trial.”

The gravity of the statement hung between them. 

Looking at the man across from him, Harry was hit by the complete improbability that his assignment would ever succeed. How was he meant to be an accurate judge of Malfoy’s current character? They had too much history. Too many mistakes on both of their ends that skewed the scales. Harry wished he had access to Hermione's old Time-Turner. It was a guttural and all consuming notion. He needed to know what happened during Malfoy’s trial. Harry had refused to read the papers that summer. All he wanted to do was move on from the war and learn how to heal. Ironically, now he didn’t think they would ever be able to heal because of his choice to walk out.

“Me being here is absolutely useless,” Harry quietly said. “Isn’t it?”

Malfoy didn’t answer as he lounged further back in the chair. He limply hung a hand over the armrest. Bass curiously slithered towards the chair and lifted his head towards Malfoy’s fingers. 

_ “This one smells good.” _

_ “Don’t try to eat him.” _

_ “Won’t eat. Just sniff.” _

Smoothly, Bass maneuvered his body towards the legs of the chair and began to slide upwards. Harry worriedly looked between the snake and Malfoy’s lax position. 

“Uh, Malfoy, my snake is climbing up the chair,” Harry warned. He rushed to add, “He’s harmless. A bit of a prat sometimes, but harmless.”

Malfoy perked his head up, but kept the rest of his body in the same position. 

_ “Slow movements,” _ Harry carefully reminded Bass when the snake slithered onto Malfoy’s lap. 

Malfoy’s eyebrows raised at the weight and steadily lifted a hand. Bass pushed his head underneath Malfoy’s palm and happily coiled the rest of his body into a ball. The corner of Malfoy’s mouth flickered as if he wanted to smile but didn’t remember how. 

_ “Soft.” _ Bass happily sighed, _ “Smells good and so soft.” _

Harry grimaced. _ “Stop flirting.” _

Malfoy confidently rested his hand on Bass and slowly stroked. The noir silk of his dressing gown accentuated the shine of Bass’ ivory scales. Malfoy’s head tilted back in content. The movement elongated his throat and unintentionally dragged Harry’s attention to Malfoy’s Adam’s Apple. Harry thickly swallowed. Malfoy easily emanated the perfect image of a Slytherin Heir. 

“It’s interesting.”

Harry snapped his gaze away from Malfoy’s neck. “What is?” 

Malfoy tilted his face back towards Harry and cocked his head to the side. “You didn’t used to give up so easily.” 

“What?” Harry reared back. 

“You said that being here was useless,” Malfoy purposefully paused, “after barely one day.”

Harry defensively said, “That doesn’t mean I’m giving up.” 

Malfoy continued to pet Bass as he tutted, “You are.” 

“I’m not giving up. You just make me,” Harry wildly gesticulated until he settled on, “ frustrated .”

“And yet you’re still here,” Malfoy pointed out. 

“Because, you absolute twat, we need your help,” Harry instantly responded, sounding far too pleading for his own comfort.

“Twat, now? I thought you came to apologize,” Malfoy sarcastically droned. 

“I did,” Harry cradled his head in his hands. “I am here to apologize.”

“That’s not all, though.”

“Well I can’t help that apparently you’re the only sodding Curse-Breaker who knows wandless.”

“Aha,” Malfoy tutted, “that’s what you actually need from me.” 

Harry groaned. “Forget it.”

“You can’t do wandless magic?” Malfoy asked as if Harry hadn’t spoke. “I find that hard to believe.”

“It’s complicated,” Harry bit out, eyes downcast on his wrists. 

“I can keep up.”

Harry didn’t doubt it. Still, he scoffed, “I’m not telling you, so you might as well drop it.” 

Malfoy contemplatively hummed as Bass slithered over his shoulders. Harry could tell that Malfoy was gearing up to something and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what it was going to be. 

“I’ll make a deal with you.”

“Absolutely not,” Harry instinctively rejected without a moment’s thought. 

After a brief pause, Malfoy shrugged. “Fine.” 

Harry suspiciously narrowed his eyes at Malfoy, “Fine?”

Malfoy hummed and carefully leaned over the arm of the chair while Bass clung to him. He picked up a well-worn book from an impressive pile. Settling back into his seat, Malfoy opened the book on his lap. 

Harry’s jaw dropped and his gaze repeatedly shot between the book and Malfoy’s vague expression. He clenched his hands into fists and sounded positively petulant when he pressed, “That’s it? You’re gonna ignore me now?” 

The blond didn’t bother to respond. 

Harry indignantly crossed his arms and huffed out a loud whoosh of air. He wasn’t going to be baited. He really wasn’t.

Malfoy waved a hand over the open page, and a dull voice began to drone.

“Step eleven, add five more lionfish spines. Step twelve, add flobberworm mucus-”

“Fucks sake,” Harry groaned and stood from his seat. “There’s no way I’m gonna sit through a potions module in the middle of the night.”

Malfoy dully traced a finger along the spine of the book. “You can barely sit through a potions module, period.” 

Harry’s cheeks bloomed red. He crossed his arms and warned, “I’m leaving.”

“I’m not stopping you.”

Harry wished Malfoy would, though. He immediately scowled at the thought. Besides, Malfoy was right. He was giving in far too easily. Harry had to try a different tactic if he wanted to stay on the case and keep any sense of sanity. With a defeated sigh, he slumped back onto the couch. 

“Thought you were leaving?” Malfoy lethargically asked over the humdrum of potion instructions.

“Yeah, well,” Harry nonsensically grumbled. He stopped himself from saying anything else without properly formulating his thoughts first. Harry was desperate to break the cycle of sputtering out offensive nonsense on impulse. That wasn’t who he was or who he wanted to be. He tugged the elastic from his hair and raked his fingers through the mess of curls. 

Abruptly, Malfoy closed his book and they were submerged in silence. He turned towards Harry with a contemplative look as if he could sense what Harry was attempting to work up to. Harry didn’t understand how it was possible without sight or legilimency. Shoving his nerves by the wayside, he finally verbalized what he was thinking. 

“I want to try to get on with you.”

Harry did his best to not cringe at how juvenile the statement sounded. 

“For your case,” Malfoy clarified with a laissez faire tone. 

“Honestly?” Harry shrugged, “Yeah. It’s my job, and the case is important to me.” 

Malfoy hummed, but it seemed like he was tuning Harry back out.

Before he was completely shut out, Harry added, “That’s not the only reason, though.”

“Oh?” Malfoy distractedly asked as he put his book back on the pile. 

“I’m tired of fighting with you.” 

Malfoy rested his chin on his hand and drawled, “It might have escaped your notice, but I haven’t been doing the fighting.”

“Okay, fine. You’re right,” Harry self-consciously admitted. He scratched the back of his neck and debated his next question before deciding he might as well ask. “Why haven’t you?” 

“Been fighting back?”

“Yeah. It’s not,” Harry fumbled for a moment, “like you.” 

Malfoy pressed the pads of his fingers to his lips and his eyebrows slightly pulled together. A flicker of something flitted over his pale complexion, and then it was gone. 

“I don’t care about anyone enough to fight them.” Malfoy’s voice lowered an octave when he added, “Even you.”

“But—You...Malfoy, you hate me,” Harry confusedly bleated.

Malfoy steadily shook his head. “I don’t.” 

Harry’s voice slightly raised as he incredulously repeated, “You do. You’ve always hated me.”

Malfoy shifted Bass from his shoulders to the back of the chair. Harry’s brows drew together as he watched Malfoy stand from the chair and walk towards the kitchenette. Reaching into an overhead cabinet, Malfoy pulled out a bottle of wine and two glasses. 

“Drink?” Malfoy asked.

“Er,” Harry’s nose wrinkled at the sidetrack, but still accepted. “Sure.”

With an intricate wave of his fingers, the bottle of Lambrusco uncorked itself and poured an even amount of purple liquid into each glass. Malfoy corked the bottle with another precise flick of his hand. He walked back over towards the couch with a glass in each hand. 

“You’re allowed to drink?” Harry asked and then immediately wanted to hit himself because it wasn’t the most pressing matter.

“House arrest,” Malfoy held out one of the filled glasses for Harry. “Not a prisoner, remember?” He sat back down with his own wine. “How I spend a paycheck is my business as long as its legal.”

“How does that work if you can’t leave?”

“I ask for something, Galleons are removed from my vault, and Gannon procures it.” 

Harry stared down at the glass in his hand and mulled over Malfoy’s words. He looked back up at the other man. “Why do you live here, though? You could have served out the sentence anywhere.”

“That so?” Malfoy rhetorically asked and took a sip from his glass. He wiped a bead of liquid from his bottom lip. “I had no money, no job, and there wasn’t a single person willing to hire a Death Eater.” 

“Ex-Death Eater,” Harry corrected.

Malfoy paused and then nodded once. “Yes. Ex-Death Eater.” 

Harry took a long drink, and a shiver wracked down his spine. He cleared his throat. “That still doesn’t explain why Gringotts.”

“The ministry worked out a deal for me.”

When Malfoy didn’t elaborate, Harry rolled his eyes. “Which was?”

“I train to be a Curse-Breaker and live down here like the gremlin they believe I am. Out of sight and out of mind from the public.”

At the statement, Harry gritted his teeth. He couldn’t fight the natural indignation he felt for Malfoy. Harry knew first hand what it was like to be shoved away from view. To spend years living in a dark crevice where he wouldn’t be seen by the world. To be treated less than human. 

Harry gruffly reckoned, “That’s not much of a deal.”

“In exchange,” Malfoy gestured towards the rest of the studio, “I have somewhere to live, and I’m employed.”

“Yeah,” Harry thoughtlessly scoffed, “by the people who have been torturing you.”

Malfoy’s mouth curved, but there wasn’t any humor in his expression. He held his glass in the air in a cheers position. “Careful, they’re your employers, too.”

Harry dodged Malfoy’s point with a drink. When he swallowed, he diverted, “What I don’t get is why you didn’t just return to the Manor.”

“Repossessed by the Ministry,” Malfoy answered, as if he was telling Harry the weather forecast. 

“Your mum, though?” Harry kept pushing for information. “She must've thrown a fit to have you stay wherever she ended up.”

Malfoy’s blank expression gave nothing away. He crossed one leg over the other and without pause or lament, responded, “She’s dead.”

_ “What?” _Harry choked.

Malfoy raised his glass towards his mouth and paused before another drink to mutter, “Father, too.”

Harry nearly dropped his glass. His jaw shamelessly hung wide open. Frantically, he went through everything he knew about the Malfoys’ trials.

Narcissa had been pardoned because of what occurred in the Forbidden Forest. She could have given Harry up when she heard his heartbeat, but she didn’t. Never having been officially initiated as a Death Eater certainly helped her case, too. Lucius, on the other hand, was given a life sentence in Azkaban. Until that moment, Harry never heard even a whisper of news that they died. 

“Malfoy…I’m—I had no idea.” 

“I imagine they wanted to keep it hushed up.”

The most troubling bit was that Malfoy continued to sit across from Harry looking completely unperturbed. There were a few certainties Harry could rely on when it came to Malfoy. One of them was that Malfoy loved his mother more than anyone. More than himself, even. The idea that he wasn’t mourning her death was inconceivable to Harry. 

However, Harry used to be able to depend on Malfoy to always hate him right back. 

A lot can change in five years.

“When?” Harry quietly asked. 

“Father died in his cell a few months after the sentence. Robards didn’t tell me why. I suspect foul play from a guard who didn’t like him,” Malfoy carelessly shrugged and Harry felt like the ground was slowly swallowing him whole. “Mother died of heartbreak.”

Harry took a large swig of his drink and wished he was drunker for the weight of their conversation. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Moreso to himself than Malfoy, Harry disbelievingly wondered, “How are you being nonchalant right now?”

Malfoy toyed with his glass and too-politely asked, “Did they tell you about the hijacks?”

“Robards said you couldn’t...” 

“Emote, feel, speak, and now, see,” Malfoy easily counted off with his fingers. An unfeeling laugh trickled from Malfoy’s lips, and Harry felt ill. “They waited to tell me about my parents until my first hijack. Quite clever of them.”

“When you couldn’t feel emotion.” Harry’s eyes went round as his heart plummeted. “That’s sick.”

“Yes, well,” Malfoy mindlessly tapped his finger against the side of the glass, “it doesn’t matter now.”

“How can you say that?” Harry aporetically asked. “You weren’t allowed to process the death of your parents. Of course it matters.”

“You’re not understanding.”

“Help me then,” Harry pled. 

“I told you, I don’t care about anyone.” Malfoy quieted his voice to amend, “I _ can’t _ care about anyone, so it doesn’t matter to me now.”

“But,” Harry searched around the room as if it would show him the right thing to say, “you can feel now, can’t you? You got it back. Kingsley said none of it was permanent.”

“It’s not that simple,” Malfoy said and polished off his drink. He nimbly stood from his seat. “That’s enough for tonight. It’s late. You should go.”

“But—”

“No.” Malfoy crossed his arms and nodded towards the door. “Go.”

There wasn’t room for debate. 

Harry shakily finished his drink. Malfoy expectantly held out his hand, and Harry silently passed him the empty glass. Mechanically, he gathered a sleeping Bass into his hands and looped the snake over his shoulders. His mind was a jumble of information that he couldn’t make proper sense of. He would have given anything to be able to tell Ron and Hermione about the case. They would have been able to at least help detangle the mess. 

Malfoy turned his back to Harry and placed the glasses into the sink’s basin. Knowing when he was sufficiently dismissed, Harry walked towards the door. He halted before opening the door as he remembered something Malfoy had said earlier. 

“Malfoy?”

The blond monotonously hummed in acknowledgment as he washed the glasses.

“Earlier, you said you would make a deal with me. What was it?”

Harry could have imagined it, but he thought he saw Malfoy’s ministrations briefly falter.

“If you come back tomorrow, I’ll tell you.”

Taking it with a grain of salt, he nodded and opened the door. One last time, Harry glanced over his shoulder and watched Malfoy methodically dry the clean glasses with a towel. 

With a gentleness that Harry didn’t know he could show towards Malfoy, Harry said, “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

**** 

The following morning found Harry outside of Malfoy’s door ten minutes early with an excitable snake wrapped around his arm. 

After a night of tossing and turning, he was relatively ready to start his second day of observation. Harry was prepared to make an active effort to learn to trust Malfoy. There was no turning back after hearing Malfoy talk about his family. Harry wanted to help Malfoy learn how to feel again. A very Hermione-like voice was telling him that he was giving in to his savior complex. Harry had a gut feeling that it was more than that. 

_ “New friend to hold Bass. Make me smell good.” _

Curiosity got the better of Harry. “_ What does he smell like to you _?”

_ “Wood.” _

Harry’s mouth twitched, _ “Malfoy smells like wood?” _

Bass nodded his diamond-shaped head. _ “Warm wood. Like a forest.” _

Harry didn’t know what to say to that, so he figured it was best to say nothing at all. He rapped his knuckles against the door. 

After a short wait, Malfoy breathlessly huffed, “Just come in, Potter.”

With an ill-concealed grin, Harry opened the door and instantly stopped in his tracks at the sight of a sweat-drenched Malfoy. 

“I’m almost done,” Malfoy laboriously said through a sit-up. “Make yourself tea if you’d like.”

“Um. Okay. Sure,” Harry flailed for words. He belatedly closed the door and stood in his spot. 

Malfoy’s hair was pulled away from his face in a tight ponytail, the color at his temples slightly darker from sweat. He wore black shorts and a plain white tee that stuck to his spine. Harry was suddenly very aware that he had never seen Malfoy with less clothing on. Inexplicably, he felt like he was interrupting something illicit. 

With slightly pink cheeks, Harry turned away and deposited Bass onto the couch before beginning to make himself tea. As the kettle heated, he purposefully kept his eyes away from the spot on the floor where Malfoy was exercising. The room was silent aside from Malfoy’s heavy panting and Harry’s graceless clanging about. Harry would have rather been late. 

“Done,” Malfoy exhaled after an impossibly long three minutes and twelve seconds. 

Harry knew it was that long because he found himself counting the time as he steadfastly glared at his mug. 

“I didn’t know you worked out.” 

The moment Harry realized he said the statement out loud, he wanted to shove the words in a blender and then jump in after them. 

“Why in Merlin’s name would you know that?” Malfoy slowly said as if he was trying to communicate to Bass instead of Harry. “Besides, you weren’t meant to be here yet.”

Harry took a sip of his still scalding tea and resolutely said nothing.

“Yesterday you were late, today you were early. Honestly, Potter, do you have zero concept of time?” 

“McGonagall should’ve turned me into a pocket-watch after all,” Harry muttered under his breath. 

With a sigh, Malfoy stood from the floor and stretched his arms over his head. Harry’s gaze snapped towards his uncovered forearm. 

“What the hell is that?” Harry gasped. When Malfoy opened his mouth, Harry rushed out, “Sorry. I’m talking about your arm. What happened?”

Harry started to walk closer to get a better view of what looked like a large black stain covering almost the entirety of Malfoy’s milky forearm. Malfoy immediately dropped his arms and blocked Harry’s view. 

“Malfoy,” Harry nervously drawled, “who did that to you?”

“No one did it to me,” Malfoy stiffly crossed his arms. Before Harry could reply, Malfoy clipped, “I’m going to shower.”

Harry watched in disbelief as Malfoy strode into the adjoining room and firmly shut the door behind him. A shower head could be heard sputtering to life.

Unsteadily, Harry plopped onto the couch and buried his head in his hands. He couldn’t get the image out of his head. It had looked like a bottle of ink had poured on Malfoy’s arm. Harry knew it was a brand, though. Slightly raised and utterly unforgiving. Harry remembered what was lurking underneath the newer mark, and his stomach rolled. He didn’t know what kind of magic it must have taken to cover the Dark Mark, but it wasn’t anything good. 

“Merlin,” Harry whispered in his hands. 

_ “What’s wrong?” _

Harry peaked between his fingers to look at Bass coiled on the cushion next to him. 

_ “Your new friend.” _

Bass slithered onto Harry’s lap._ “We’ll help?” _

_ “Yeah,” _ Harry glimpsed the closed bathroom door. _ “We’re gonna help him.” _


	3. Three

By the time Malfoy reappeared from the bathroom, Harry was pacing in front of the couch with his fingers anxiously knotted together. At the sound of the creaking door, he stopped. Malfoy now wore a long-sleeved Henley and Harry didn’t miss the way the thin material was steadfastly pulled down to his palms. 

“Can you tell me what happened?” Harry asked. 

He had practiced the question over and over inside his head. While the delivery was a bit quieter than he would have liked, he was surprised to hear his voice remained steady. Harry felt anything _ but _ steady.

“No,” Malfoy easily told him and unknowingly mirrored Harry’s stance. 

Harry disappointingly exhaled. “Malfoy.”

“Don’t _ Malfoy _ me as if I owe you an explanation.” With a stubborn shrug, he added, “It’s not your business.”

“No, it’s not,” Harry murmured. Thinking of the day before, Harry changed tactics, “What was your deal, by the way?” 

Malfoy merely lifted an eyebrow. 

“Yesterday,” Harry elaborated with a roll of his hands, “you told me that if I came back, you would tell me your deal.” He sat down and pointedly said, “I came back.” 

“You did,” Malfoy agreed after a moment. “Fine.” He sat down in his usual chair and opened his posture towards Harry. “I’ll tell you how I can feel your magic if you tell me why you won’t do wandless magic.”

Harry automatically opened his mouth to tell the ponce to shove off, but halted. He had promised himself he would try to trust Malfoy. Pinching his bottom lip between his teeth, Harry scrutinized Malfoy. 

Malfoy remained in his somewhat beseeching position, and Harry was once again reminded how he barely recognized the other wizard anymore. He didn’t know this man. The one with long hair, even temperament, and a blindfold that made talking to him almost feel confessional. Harry released his bottom lip and closed his eyes. 

“Fine.” 

“You’ll tell me?”

“Yeah,” Harry reluctantly agreed. 

Malfoy didn’t show appreciation or revelation at Harry’s answer. 

Harry slid down to the carpet on the floor and propped himself upwards with his elbow. Bass slithered into the warm space by Harry’s armpit with a pleased little hiss. Harry’s mouth curved upwards at his companion before he prompted Malfoy to speak. “Your deal, you have to go first.”

“Alright.” 

Harry’s pupils flared as he watched Malfoy carefully slide down from his chair. He sat on the ground across from Harry. Spine straightened and legs neatly criss-crossed, Malfoy’s posture was immaculate compared to Harry’s slouched position. 

“Would you look at that,” Harry disbelievingly whistled. 

Malfoy made an unimpressed noise.

“I didn’t mean literally,” Harry rolled his eyes and teasingly tacked on, “you sensitive dolt.”

Malfoy’s mouth twitched before settling back into a line. He rested against the chair and probed, “Tell me what you meant, then.” 

“You’re sitting on the floor.”

Malfoy paused before he deadpanned, “With observational skills like that, I’m truly delighted _ you’re _ the one who can see.”

“Oh, shut it,” Harry rolled his eyes. “I meant that I didn’t know Malfoys even had the ability to _ slum it _ like the rest of us.” 

“Malfoys are impeccable hosts.” He folded his hands in his lap. “It would be rude to make you, as you eloquently stated, slum it, on your own.” 

Harry tilted his head from side to side and reluctantly said, “If you say so.”

“I do,” Malfoy easily asserted. “Now, did you want an answer to your original question, or are we going to keep discussing etiquette?” 

His nose wrinkled. “Answer...please.”

Malfoy leaned forward and his damp hair fell over his shoulders in slight waves. Subconsciously, Harry inhaled the pine scent that filled the space between them. It grounded him in a peculiar way. Oddly, he was reminded of the Forbidden Forest and soaring Thestrals. Distracted by memories of fifth year, Harry picked at the threads of carpet by Bass and uttered, _ “He does smell like the forest.” _

Bass burrowed further into Harry’s side and cockily responded, “_Told you.” _

“I can feel your magic because it’s alive.”

Malfoy’s mellow voice pulled Harry out of his thoughts. He stopped his ministrations and said “elaborate” when it was clear Malfoy wasn’t going to on his own.

“Magic emanates power around it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Figuratively, it’s a bit like a light.” As soon as Malfoy finished the statement, the lights around them went out. Harry quickly grabbed his wand from its holster, but paused when a ball of pearly light appeared in the cup of Malfoy’s hand. Malfoy tossed the light to his opposite hand. “It creates wavelengths, and the stronger the magic, the larger the wavelengths become. Larger the wavelengths, the easier it is to feel someone’s magic.” 

Harry watched in fascination as the ball became brighter, illuminating more of the space around it. Malfoy glowed underneath the halo of light. His features transformed into something distortedly soft. Curiously, Bass slithered from the safety of Harry’s body heat and towards Malfoy’s hazy opulence. The rays of light reflected off of his scales as if they were a compilation of twinkling stardust. Harry slowly sat upright and rested on his haunches. 

“It’s not all about power, though,” Malfoy contemplatively said. “Strong emotions can affect the wavelengths just as much. Perhaps even more.”

Harry was thrown back to the numb hours he spent in therapy with Healer Cleary. She always went in circles, perpetually revolving back to the instructions that Harry had to learn how to control his emotions. He kept his eyes on the light in Malfoy’s palm when he asked, “Why would emotions affect the wavelengths more?”

“You already know the answer to that one, Potter.”

“I do?”

Malfoy inclined his head. “I presume you can still conjure a Patronus?”

“Course,” Harry immediately responded. “What does that have to do with anything?” 

Malfoy smoothly tossed the light in the air, and it hovered above them. The light shifted from pearl to a rosy-pink hue before splitting in two. One of the orbs bled until it was the color of ruby while the other reverted to white once more.

“Red for emotions and white for magic.” Malfoy paused, “Following?”

Harry quietly encouraged, “Keep going.”

“Magic and emotions are integral in every witch and wizard,” Malfoy explained as the two lights slowly melded back into each other. Harry watched with a slack jaw as the colors intricately twisted together as if they were Willow roots. They smoothed into a single sphere and bathed the room in a champagne glow. 

“Brilliant,” Harry whispered, voice barely audible. It felt as if anything louder would shatter the trance Harry found himself wading in. 

Malfoy’s mouth did another almost-grin that Harry was steadily growing used to. 

“More than being integral,” the light lowered back to Malfoy’s outstretched hand, “magic and emotions constantly feed off each other to the point where they’re completely intertwined. Advanced spells require stronger power and by extension, stronger emotions.”

Harry’s posture perked upwards as he caught on to Malfoy’s earlier point. “That’s why you need a powerful memory for a Patronus.”

“Exactly.” 

Harry marinated on the sentiment before asking, “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Since the trials, can you still do one?”

Malfoy monotonously droned, “Was that supposed to make a lick of sense?”

Harry huffed in annoyance at his own ineloquence. “After not being able to,” Harry briefly hesitated before continuing, “emote for a year, can you still cast a Patronus?”

The light swiftly transformed to white. 

“Of course not,” Malfoy stated as if it was obvious.

“What’d you mean _ of course not _?”

“Think about what it takes to cast a Patronus,” Malfoy instructed. He weightedly said, “Specifically, a Patronus.”

Harry thickly swallowed at the implication. “A happy memory.” 

Without any sense of longing, Malfoy stated, “I don’t have that.”

“But, you can feel again.” Harry forcefully added, “I _ know _ you can even if you don’t want to admit it.” 

“No, I can’t.”

“You’re just out of practice.” He scrambled for a simple solution, “If you just...I dunno, spent more time with me and we—”

“Potter, you’re missing the point,” Malfoy slightly raised his voice and Harry snapped his mouth shut. Malfoy pointedly paused before he said, “I never could cast one.”

Harry’s eyes widened as he tried to make sense of the impossibility. Malfoy dedicated years of his life to gloating to Harry about how much better his life was. The spoiled little boy had always gotten everything he wanted and made sure people knew it. Years later, the illusion crumbled. Harry’s shoulders hunched inward with the extraordinary weight residing in his chest. Malfoy had never felt pure happiness. 

“Stop it.”

Harry’s stomach churned at the defiant tilt of Malfoy’s chin. Wearily, he asked, “Stop what?”

“You’re pitying me,” Malfoy simply stated. 

“Am not,” Harry automatically shot back. His red cheeks would have easily given him away to anybody else.

“Yes, you are,” Malfoy responded. He elegantly lifted a hand. “And before you start arguing with me, I know you are because I can feel it.” 

Malfoy’s calm expression caused Harry to swallow the retort that was on the tip of his tongue. Reluctantly, he admitted, “Maybe I was.” 

“You were.”

“Fine,” Harry eventually dragged out when Malfoy didn’t add anything else. “Anyways...earlier you said emotions, specifically mine, can make larger wavelengths. How?”

“You feel deeply,” Malfoy easily said as if Harry wasn’t completely exposed. He thoughtfully added, “More than the average person, I believe.” 

“Oh, shove off,” Harry snipped. 

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “That wasn’t an insult.” 

“But,” the skin between Harry’s eyebrows puckered, “how do you _ know _ it’s not actually just power instead of me just being...emotional?”

“Aside from your apparent inability to control your emotions?” Malfoy steadfastly carried on before Harry could stand up for himself, “The wavelengths are different. They fluctuate.”

Harry skeptically eyed the ball of light that still lingered. He stubbornly said, “Show me.”

“Very polite.”

With a sarcastically saccharine tone, Harry dragged out, “Please?” 

“If you insist.” Malfoy held the light between both of his palms. “When you’re furious...” 

The light bloomed fiercely bright, forcing Harry to shield his eyes at first. After the sudden abruption became less abrasive, Harry squinted. He realized that the orb was erratically pulsating. 

“When you’re upset...” 

Harry leaned forwards. The light slightly dimmed and began to lethargically oscillate in heady waves. 

“When you’re,” Malfoy somewhat frowned in concentration, “whatever it is you’re feeling right now.” 

The orb’s pulsations steadily slowed down to match Harry’s heart rate. He put a hand over his chest as if it would help conceal himself from Malfoy. Finally, Malfoy closed his palm and extinguished the light. The light in the studio returned and Harry had to blink a few times to gather his bearings. 

“I’ve—” Harry’s voice sounded thick to his own ears. He coughed into his fist and tried again. “I’ve never heard of anyone being able to do that.” 

“Magic is more complex than most people give it credit for.”

Harry agreeably hummed, having more than enough experience with the complexity of different branches of magic. He angled his head to the side. “Does anyone else know?” 

“Does anyone else know I still have the ability to cast Lumos? I would hope so.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

Malfoy opened his mouth to respond but halted when Bass nudged his head into Malfoy’s thigh. Once the python made himself comfortable in the wizard’s lap, Malfoy answered Harry. 

“The Minister and Robards understand to an extent.” 

Harry remembered what Kinglsey told him about the spell Malfoy had done during their first visit. 

“Kingsley said the spell you did was to read people’s magical signature. That you use it so you know when specific people are around.” Harry suspiciously peered at the blond, “That’s not what it actually was, was it?”

“I have to do the spell first to be able to feel someone’s wavelengths.” Malfoy stroked a milky finger along the back of Bass’ head. “If Shacklebolt wants to call that a signature spell, then let him. I’m not in a rush to correct the Minister.” 

“Merlin,” Harry sputtered out on a breathy laugh. “You still are a bit of a sneaky bastard, aren’t you?” 

Malfoy didn’t respond, but he didn’t appear to be offended. Harry watched with interest as Malfoy methodically continued to trace his fingers along Bass’ scales. Steadily, Bass uncoiled and contently hissed. 

_ “You trusted him rather quickly,” _Harry noted with intrigue. 

Bass took nearly a month to completely uncoil around Ron. It had also taken Ron nearly the same amount of time to get used to a pushy python slithering all over him, but that was neither here nor there. 

_ “Isn’t scared of me,” _ Bass happily responded. _ “Doesn’t wiggle like big noodle.” _

Harry brashly cackled and covered his mouth when Malfoy curiously tilted his head. 

“He trusts you,” Harry honestly told him.

Malfoy looked relatively pleased by the comment, Harry decided. At the very least, the corner of his mouth flickered. 

“What’s his name?”

“Bass.”

“You named your snake after a type of fish?”

“Um, not really. No,” Harry stammered with reddened cheeks. 

Malfoy paused his movements. “It’s worse than that. Isn’t it?”

“It’s not,” Harry denied far too quickly. 

Malfoy knowingly told him, “I can tell you’re lying, you know.”

Harry wiped his hand over his face with a moan. “Stop reading my wavelengths or whatever the fuck it is you’re doing right now.”

“Too late. You might as well tell me,” Malfoy goaded.

“Absolutely not.”

“Then leave.” 

Harry dropped his hands. “What?”

“If you won’t tell me,” Malfoy tilted his head towards the direction of the door, “leave.”

“_What _?” Harry incredulously repeated. “No.” 

Malfoy resumed petting Bass and turned his head away from Harry’s direction.

When it became blatantly clear that Malfoy was ignoring him, Harry reiterated, “I’m not leaving.”

_ Silence _. 

“You can’t manipulate me, you know.”

Malfoy’s lips remained steadfastly pressed together. 

Harry’s nostrils flared. “I mean it, Malfoy.”

_ More silence _.

“Fine!” Harry finally exploded. He threw his hands in the air and exasperatedly gave in. “I’ll tell you, you absolute git.”

Malfoy swiftly turned back towards Harry and confidently said, “Thought you might.” 

“You truly are a prat,” Harry deadpanned. 

“I’ve been called worse. By you, might I add,” Malfoy said with utmost boredom. “Now, tell me.”

Harry deeply sighed. “I had no idea what to call him at the beginning. No idea whatsoever. So, I decided to get to know him a bit more first then pick something that actually suited him.” 

“Makes sense,” Malfoy reasonably agreed.

“Er,” Harry flushed once more, “he wanted to know how I found out I was a parselmouth. So...I possibly, _ potentially _, mentioned the Chamber of Secrets. And. Well.”

Harry could see the exact moment it clicked for Malfoy. 

“You didn’t.”

Harry winced. “I might have.”

“Merlin’s sake, tell me you did not name your bloody snake, _ Basilisk _.” 

Harry’s cheeks were beet red by the time Malfoy had finished. 

“Hear me out, okay? Bass chose it!” Harry uselessly tried to defend himself. “He refused to respond to anything else when I tried to change it.” He rolled his hands in the air, “Something about being the king of snakes seemed to have appealed to him.” Harry bemoaned, “If you could hear half the things he tells me, you’d understand. He’s an absolute diva.”

Malfoy blankly sat there for a moment before he exasperatedly lamented, “I can’t believe you’re the savior of the wizarding world.”

Harry didn’t try to hide his laughter. He scratched the back of his neck and admitted, “You and me both.” 

Malfoy shook his head and muttered, “You’re an idiot.”

“We’ve established as much.”

Malfoy kept a steady hand on Bass and carefully swiveled sideways. Harry quirked an eyebrow as he watched Malfoy lay down on his back. He reached in Harry’s direction and patted the floor. 

“Your turn.”

For a brief moment, Harry was confused. However, clarity and apprehension collided together once he remembered their deal. With a resigned huff, Harry laid down next to Malfoy. Their heads were merely a foot apart, and their feet pointed towards opposite walls. 

When Harry didn’t readily speak, Malfoy said, “You don’t want to tell me.”

Harry mumbled, “What gave that away?”

“Let me rephrase, you don’t _ have _ to tell me.” 

Taken aback by the genuinity of the words, Harry quickly glanced at Malfoy from the corner of his eye.

At a lower octave, Malfoy added, “I won’t force you.” 

“It’s not—” Harry bit his bottom lip to stop himself. He turned his head away from Malfoy’s tranquil expression and stared at the ceiling. “It’s not because it’s...you. Well, maybe that’s part of it, too. I don’t know.” Harry anxiously folded his hands over his stomach and tightly gripped them. “I don’t like to talk about it.”

“To anyone?”

“I used to talk to a Healer.” Harry frowned, “That wasn’t because I wanted to, though.”

“You don’t like therapy,” Malfoy stated rather than asked.

“Telling a complete stranger all of my thoughts and feelings? No thank you.” Harry made a derisive snort. “I can’t even tell the people I _ do _ know what my feelings are.” 

“Bullshit.”

Harry’s eyes comically widened. “Excuse me?”

“I’m calling bullshit,” Malfoy dully declared. “You’ve never been shy to tell me all the garbage you think about me. Clearly, you have the ability. You just choose not to tell other people.”

“You don’t count,” Harry easily dismissed.

“Thanks.”

“I just meant that we’ve never had,” Harry fumbled for the right words, “much of a filter with each other. It’s not the same.”

Once Harry had said it, the truth of the statement became deeply rooted. He hadn’t actually thought about it until that moment. Historically, most of their interactions were volatile, but Malfoy was right. A confused frown settled on Harry’s face as he realized Malfoy was probably the only person he was perpetually candid with. Malfoy made a noise of agreement that forced Harry to leave the tangle of his own thoughts. 

He peeked at Malfoy. “Kingsley mentioned you’ve been seeing a Healer.”

“I have,” Malfoy openly said without a speck of resentment or embarrassment. 

“Well,” Harry prompted, “do _ you _ like it?”

Malfoy went quiet. 

“Do you?” he repeated, but was gentler the second time. 

“It’s someone to talk to.”

Immediately, Harry heard Moaning Myrtle’s voice rattling inside his head. During sixth year she told him of a sensitive boy who was lonely and didn’t have anyone other than a ghost to talk to. When Harry had found out that Malfoy was that boy, he couldn’t comprehend it. It became unfathomable information to be stored at the back of his mind until a later date. As he stared at the man who had never felt unadulterated joy, Harry could finally comprehend. 

“You deserve to have someone to talk to,” Harry mumbled. He closed his eyes. “Everyone does.”

“What about you, then?” Malfoy diplomatically pointed out, “You don’t see a Healer anymore, but that was the only person you did talk to.” 

“I, um,” Harry pinched the skin on the back of his hand, “haven’t really thought about it.”

“What about Granger and Weasley?” 

Harry shouldn’t have been surprised at the lack of hostility in Malfoy’s voice. 

“They know parts about what happened.” Harry thumbed over the band on his wrist. “Hermione worries easily. Ron worries when Hermione worries. They don’t need me to bother them with stupid stuff.” 

“Hm.” Malfoy sounded unconvinced. “And the other Weasley?”

“There’s a fleet of them. You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“Your girlfriend,” Malfoy tiredly explained. “Or is she your wife now?” 

“_Ginny _?” Harry spat out a surprised laugh. The tension that had built up inside of him dissipated. “We haven’t been together since Hogwarts.”

“Forgive me,” Malfoy loudly sighed over Harry’s chuckling. “I might be a few issues behind on The Prophet.” 

Harry looked at Malfoy’s profile and caught the way his mouth had barely lifted at the side. Floored by Malfoy teasing him even in the slightest, Harry tentatively played along. “Rita would be devastated that you missed some of her finest work. There was at least a full month of front page coverage about us splitting up. Riveting journalism, that was.” 

“Merlin,” Malfoy sputtered out an exhale that had the potential to be considered a laugh. “I bet you hated that.”

“You used to think I loved it,” Harry pointed out, not completely able to let Malfoy off the hook. 

“I used to think a lot of things.”

Harry closely peered at him. “Not anymore?”

“No,” Malfoy turned his head towards Harry. “Not anymore.”

Harry knew perfectly well that Malfoy couldn’t see him which didn’t explain why he had never felt more stripped bare by someone else’s attention. Even though it caused something in the pit of his stomach to turn, he couldn’t stop staring back. His gaze raked over the slope of Malfoy’s pointed nose, down towards his parted mouth. Harry’s eyes dropped to a lock of hair that fell over Malfoy’s Adam’s apple and pooled on the rug. 

“You’re staring,” Malfoy muttered. 

“You grew your hair out,” was the best explanation Harry could come up with.

“Well done, Auror,” Malfoy sarcastically droned. “Top sleuthing skills you’ve got there.” 

“Told you not to call me that,” Harry reprimanded without legitimate force. 

Malfoy was quiet for nearly a full minute before he said, “I never thought I would have long hair. Not since I was a child, at least.”

Harry was surprised by the nugget of unprompted honesty.

“Why not?” 

“I look more like my father with it,” Malfoy stated with an emptiness that didn’t reflect the gravity of his words. He thumbed a piece of his hair. “I stopped wanting to look like him a long time ago.”

Harry carefully mulled through his response, knowing that he was wading in uncharted territory hearing Malfoy speak negatively about his father. 

“I used to think you were a miniature clone of him. Blond. Pointy. Self-important pureblood. But, now,” Harry fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, “I don’t see him when I look at you. You’ve changed.” 

“Maybe,” Malfoy mumbled, sounding as if he was mentally miles away from the studio. 

“You have,” Harry affirmed.

Malfoy sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. When he released it, the skin was flushed and damp from spit. Harry was vaguely aware Malfoy had spoken. 

Harry rapidly blinked. “Hm?”

“Do you look any different?”

Harry’s eyebrows shot upwards. He scrutinized the way Malfoy was steadfastly pressing his lips together as if he regretted repeating the question. Without thinking twice, Harry sat upwards and carefully picked up Bass from Malfoy’s stomach. He faltered at the feeling of Malfoy’s muscles contract underneath his fingertips. Steadfastly, he carried on with placing Bass on the floor. Not giving himself a chance to hesitate, Harry grabbed Malfoy’s closest hand. 

“What’re you—”

“It’s still a mess,” Harry pointedly spoke over Malfoy. He tugged Malfoy’s fingers towards his hair and placed them there. “Just longer these days.”

Malfoy swiftly sat upright, the quick movement taking Harry off guard. Their bodies remained side by side as their chests faced each other. His eyes widened at the few inches between them, but he didn’t pull back when Malfoy’s fingertips gradually threaded into his hair. 

Harry sucked in a breath as Malfoy trailed his fingers down the length of the curls. He pinched the ends between his thumb and forefinger. 

“You haven’t cut it since the war, have you?”

He unevenly exhaled, unsure how Malfoy could have known. 

“No. I haven’t.” 

Harry closed his eyes when Malfoy’s fingers brushed his chin. 

“Beard, too? What’re you, a caveman?” Malfoy sounded moderately entertained by the insight as he scratched a blunt fingernail over Harry’s jawline.

“I look like a teenager without it,” Harry attempted to keep an even voice. “Not exactly the image Robards had in mind.” 

“Suppose not,” Malfoy contemplatively hummed. He dropped his hand and without fuss laid back down as if nothing had happened at all. When Harry didn’t follow suit, Malfoy instructed, “Relax.”

Harry numbly did as he was told and laid back down. 

“Back to earlier,” Malfoy began as if he were going down a check-list, “it’s a no to being married to Ginevra. Are you married, though?” 

Harry frowned at the revolving topic, but laid down and folded his arms behind his head. 

“I’m not.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Um,” Harry’s stomach squirmed at the question. He tugged on a piece of his hair and awkwardly admitted, “I don’t really date. Since Gin...there hasn’t been anyone.”

Malfoy waited a moment before he evenly said, “Okay.”

“Not because I’m still in love with her or something,” Harry rushed out to defend himself. “She’s been dating Luna for a few years now.”

“Alright.”

“They’re good for each other. Better than Ginny and I were.” 

“Okay.”

Harry’s cheeks flamed at Malfoy’s monotonous responses. “Honestly, I’m happy for them.”

“I’m sure you are.”

He insisted, “It’s really not that big of a deal.”

“It’s not,” Malfoy easily agreed.

“It’s just—”

“Potter,” Malfoy interrupted before Harry could continue rambling. “Shockingly, I don’t actually care about your lack of love life.”

“Lack of love life. Merlin, that sounds depressing.” Harry covered his eyes and groaned. “I actually would rather talk about wandless magic than this.”

“That makes two of us.”

Harry’s mouth briefly quirked in a grin. Steadying himself for what he was going to say, he deeply inhaled and exhaled.

“After the war,” Harry heavily began, “I could barely control my magic.” 

“Why?”

“Vol…” He drawled off and nervously looked at Malfoy who had resumed running his fingers over Bass, but otherwise remained unflinching.

Malfoy bluntly stated, “You can say his name.” 

“Okay,” Harry said, slightly unnerved by Malfoy’s deadened voice. “Voldemort’s magic fed off of me for my entire life.” He thoughtlessly put a hand over his chest where the locket’s scar remained. “When he died...it felt like I had all of this extra magic built up inside me because it was used to going somewhere else.” 

“And with Voldemort gone…” 

“It didn’t have an outlet,” Harry finished for Malfoy. “That’s Healer Cleary’s verdict, at least.” 

“It’s a sound theory.” Malfoy’s mouth pursed in thought for a moment. “Go on.”

“At the beginning, it was just small things. Glass would shatter if I was angry.” Harry minutely smiled, “Paperwork would disappear if I was stressed.” 

“How convenient,” Malfoy scoffed. 

“Eh,” Harry’s nose scrunched, “Robards didn’t think so.”

“No, I bet he didn’t.”

“Anyways,” Harry rolled his shoulders back and forced himself to continue speaking, “it wasn’t ideal, but I could handle it. It was manageable.”

At Harry’s silence, Malfoy presumed, “Until something happened.”

“Yeah.” A shiver wracked down Harry’s spine at the memory that still lingered in segments of his nightmares. He uncomfortably sat back up, feeling jittery in his own body. He barely whispered, “Something happened.” 

Assuredly, Malfoy said, “You were scared.”

Harry sucked in a breath and pulled his knees to his chest. On an exhale he pressed his forehead against his kneecaps. He knew that Malfoy was probably able to read the remnants of terror he still felt from that day. Harry nervously scratched at the back of his hand. “Um, have you ever heard of Wool’s Orphanage? It’s in London.”

“I don’t think so.”

“We got a tip that someone was going to attack children. Muggle children.” Harry’s shoulders sagged. He lifted his head and looked down at Malfoy. “Wool’s is the orphanage where Voldemort grew up.” 

“Voldemort grew up in a muggle orphanage?” Malfoy’s eyebrows pulled together. “That doesn’t make any sense.” 

Harry bitterly scoffed, “There wasn’t much about him that made sense, Malfoy.”

“Right.” Malfoy deeply frowned before forcing his features to smoothen out. “What happened?” 

“When we were inside the orphanage, I thought…” Harry’s voice noticeably warbled. He cleared his throat. His hands were trembling as he admitted, “I thought I saw him in one of the rooms. I thought somehow he was back and I panicked.” Harry had to look away from Malfoy. “Before I realized what was happening, the building started to buckle. We were able to stabilize it, but,” he ducked his head in shame, “innocent children almost got hurt because of me.” 

Malfoy concilitorily said, “You didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Harry brusquely shrugged Malfoy’s comment off. “The point is, I could have killed someone because as you pointed out earlier, I’m an emotional idiot.”

“Of course it matters,” Malfoy sternly enunciated. 

Harry ground his teeth together. There wasn’t a point in arguing when he knew he was at fault. 

“Regardless, Robards couldn’t have an Auror like that on the job. I reckon he tried to have me sacked, but Kingsley wasn’t as quick to give up without trying everything to fix me.” 

“What do you mean _ fix _ you?”

“They found a way to restrict my magic,” Harry said as he stared down at the bands around his wrists. He flexed his hands and watched the gold slightly glimmer underneath the overhead lights. “So now I can’t do wandless magic, and no one will get hurt because of it.”

Malfoy was quick to ask, “How?”

“They enchanted two bands for my wrists.”

“Handcuffs.”

Harry frowned at how dirty Malfoy made the word sound. “No, they’re not…It’s different.” 

Frustrated, he grunted and grabbed Malfoy’s hand once more. Harry directed it towards the metal around one of his wrists. Malfoy slipped his finger through the band. Goosebumps rose where their skin made contact. 

“Metal bands around your wrists that restrict your magic,” Malfoy scoffed and slipped his hand away. “From where I’m sitting, that’s exactly what handcuffs do.” He lifted an eyebrow, “I would know.”

“It’s not the same,” Harry argued. “I can still do magic, I just need my wand.”

“Why didn’t someone teach you how to control it?” Malfoy hotly responded, and Harry was taken aback by the ferocity in his voice.

Harry shook his head, “There wasn’t time. They needed my help and I couldn’t—” 

_ Control it. _

“You needed time,” Malfoy seriously said. 

“Most of the Auror department was wiped out by Death Eaters, if you recall,” Harry spat back. “There wasn’t any time.”

“Fine,” Malfoy clipped. “What about now?” 

“What about now?” Harry incredulously parroted back.

Malfoy rigidly sat up. “I assume you’ve managed to round up most of the Death Eaters by now.”

“For the most part, yeah,” Harry uncomfortably said, feeling as if he was being backed into a corner. 

Malfoy’s hands were visibly becoming restless, and Harry had no idea what had caused all of the indignation. 

“Then you have time now,” Malfoy stated as if it was a black and white issue. “You shouldn’t still be wearing those as if you’re...some kind of Ministry pet.”

“Too far, Malfoy,” Harry icily glowered. 

“What?” Malfoy shrugged. “You’re done pretending to be nice to me?” 

“I wasn’t pretending!” Harry shouted at him. “Being nice to you doesn’t mean that I’m gonna put up with you talking absolute shit.”

“How do you not understand? You’re supposed to be the poster boy for morality,” Malfoy disbelievingly said as he stood from the rug. He pointed a finger in Harry’s direction, “Why are you letting them get away with this? They expect too much of you, and you let them.”

Harry shot from his seat and stepped into Malfoy’s space. “I can’t control it, Malfoy! What do you not understand about that? I would put people in danger just because I wanted, what exactly? To be able to do wandless magic again? I don’t need that to be good at my job.”

“If you practiced you wouldn’t have to choose between the two!” Malfoy boomed, his composure completely shattered. “You can’t try it a few times and give up because for once in your life, something didn’t come easily for you.”

Harry gaped at the other man. He held out his hands by his side, “Why are you getting so worked up about this?”

Malfoy firmly pressed his lips together. 

“What?” Harry raised his hands, “Nothing to say now you’ve finally shouted at me?” 

Malfoy turned on his heel and walked towards the kitchenette. He gripped the countertop and bowed his head. Harry watched as his shoulders quickly rose and fell with ragged breaths. When he got his breathing under control, his voice barely carried across the room. Harry still heard him.

“You’re sacrificing a part of yourself because you’re scared.”

Harry balled his fits by his side. “I don’t need a therapy lesson from you.”

“You certainly need it from somebody.”

“Fuck off.”

“There’s nothing wrong with admitting you’re scared.”

“Coming from the same guy who said he can’t even feel anymore!” Harry yelled, his face burning. “You’re really going to lecture me about talking about my feelings when you refuse to accept you have them? That’s rich.”

Malfoy turned around and Harry was shell-shocked to see Malfoy was completely composed as if nothing had happened.

“You’re right,” Malfoy blankly said. 

“Don’t do that,” Harry immediately flagged. “I just—”

“You should get some fresh air,” Malfoy cut him off. He nodded towards the door. “I’ll be working on a cursed clock when you come back, so you’ll actually have something to report to the Minister.” With an impeccably dry voice, Malfoy added, “That is why you’re here after all.” 

Harry felt all of the fight leaving his body. “Don’t make me go.”

“Clearly, I can’t make you do anything.” 

Harry glanced at the door and then back at Malfoy. He wiped a tired hand over his face. “I’ll be back later.” 

“Don’t bring Bass back when you do.” Malfoy paused before adding, “I don’t want to scare him.”

Harry felt something distinctly crack somewhere inside of himself. 

“Okay,” Harry mumbled. 

Gathering an anxious Bass into his hands, Harry left the studio. 


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find my ramblings on tumblr @domestic-harry or on twitter @thequeensue  
\- Lis xx

The initial moments following Harry’s departure from Malfoy’s rooms were filled with a cancerous sort of numbness; sickly and seeping from the center of his chest until it reached his extremities. Harry flexed his left hand as if to dully check that he could still manage a simple movement. The faintest tingle of subdued magic prickled beneath his fingertips. A rocky exhale slipped between his lips. 

“Why didn’t someone teach me?” Harry whispered to his own hands. He stared down at his upturned palms as if looking at them for the first time. 

Panic dug its sharp talons into his psyche. Was Kingsley scared of what Harry would do unrestrained? Memories of Wool’s Orphanage in chaos appeared behind his closed eyes, and he forced them back open. Harry shook his head to dislodge the sound of screams that never lingered too far out of reach. He slightly turned his wrists and watched the gold bands flicker underneath the overhead light. His breathing quickened, and the walls felt as if they were drawing closer. 

_ You’re sacrificing a part of yourself because you’re scared. _

Clawing doubt followed the memory of Malfoy’s statement. It wouldn’t be the first time Harry had sacrificed a part of himself for the benefit of others. A frown tugged at his mouth at the feeling building in his gut. 

_ “What’s wrong?” _

Harry glanced at where he had deposited Bass on the mattress. He grumbled, _ “Nothing."_

_ “Not nothing. You made him angry. Forced us to leave.” _ The snake made a noise that was akin to a widow’s lament. _ “Now Bass is abandoned and alone. Always alone. No one to smell. No one to love.” _

_ “What am I, chopped liver?” _

Bass lopped from the bed to the floor. _ “If only.” _

Harry glared at the python. _ “You’re supposed to be on my side.” _

_ “Cannot be.” _ Bass raised his head just to pointedly drop it once more. _ “You took me away. The other one was softer. Warmer.” _

_ “Course he was," _Harry rolled his eyes. He petulantly crossed his arms. _ “Anyways, your new friend was being an arse. He said I was scared.” _

_ “You are scared,” _ Bass hissed quite matter-of-factly. _ “Can taste it.” _

_ “I’m not scared,” _ Harry indignantly piped, having had more than enough people reading his moods for one day. Admittedly, the sentiment sounded more believable inside his head. As if to manifest the statement into a reality, Harry stubbornly amended, _ “I’m not scared...anymore. I’m just being careful.” _

A very Malfoy-like voice in his head pointed out, _ “Only because you’re scared.” _

Or perhaps it was Hermione’s voice that time. 

The moment the notion popped into his head, Harry’s eyes wildly darted across the studio as if Hermione had somehow managed to sneak inside Gringotts. The brief flicker of hope extinguished when he saw nothing but blank walls. 

Apparently, he was steadily losing his mind. 

Harry started to pace in tight circles as he ran through the lineup of people he actually could talk to. A deprecative laugh petered out of its own accord. The only people he had were two ministry workers and a snake with a superiority complex. 

Harry couldn’t ask Kinglsey and Robards their opinion about him being a ‘Ministry pet’ without getting fired, which ruled them out. He also couldn’t depend on Bass’ opinion because the snake was blatantly more infatuated with Malfoy than he ever had been with Harry. Harry, who had the ability to at the very least _ understand _Bass. It was a minor shot to his ego.

Bitterly, he scrubbed a hand down his face. Of course, the only time Harry had wanted to talk about himself, there wasn’t a single living soul he could turn to. 

Harry abruptly stopped his pacing. 

_ “What happened?” _

His mouth opened and closed a few times before he muttered under his breath, “Someone alive.”

_ “Wrong language.” _

Without answering, Harry darted towards his bag. He quickly rummaged through the contents. A wave of nervous-giddiness soared through his body when he found the invisibility cloak. Almost reverently, Harry pulled out the cloak and thumbed over the slippery material. He turned towards Bass. 

_ “I can’t talk to anyone alive, but I might be able to talk to someone who is dead.” _

***

A resounding _ pop _reverberated off the storefronts of Hogsmeade. Nearby shoppers paused when a body did not readily accompany the telltale sound of apparition. Tucking his chin towards his chest, Harry ignored their confused faces and started towards the castle. 

The closer Harry got to Hogwarts, the more inconceivably jumbled his thoughts became. It was as if they were composed of poorly spliced segments of film. A reel of Malfoy’s barbed words perpetually looped faster and faster until they were distorted by infusions of Harry’s own anxieties. 

He needed help.

He_ wanted _help. 

There was a familiar stinging behind his eyes as loneliness saturated him. 

He wanted Sirius. 

At the thought of his godfather’s boyish grin, Harry quickened his pace to a jog.

Lupin. 

He roughly sniffled while sweat beaded between his shoulder blades.

Fred. 

Tearing off the cloak and bundling it in his grip, Harry sprinted. 

Dumbledore.

The opening to the Forbidden Forest was only a few meters away, and his arms pumped even faster with his strides. 

Dad. 

Tears unabashedly clumped his eyelashes together as he gave himself over to what he was going to do. Who he would see. 

_ Mum. _

Harry couldn’t remember another time where he wanted anything as badly as he did in that moment. His fingers itched to feel the fine edges of the Resurrection Stone once more. An almost delirious grin split his face when he reached the path he had once walked to greet death. 

“Here,” Harry laboriously said to himself between exhales. He began to scour over the forest floor, raking his memory for the exact place he dropped the stone. “C’mon, c’mon, where are you?” 

As one minute of searching bled into thirty, Harry’s desperation rose dangerously.

“No, no, no.” Hands uncontrollably shaking, Harry collapsed to his knees and furiously patted over the curves of exposed roots. His trousers had torn over a kneecap at one point, but he had barely taken notice. 

The forest around Harry steadily shifted from golden to purple as the sun swathed the horizon. His hands had gone numb from the dropping temperature. The desperation he had felt shifted into something close to agony. 

“Where is it?” Harry practically bellowed as he arched over to slam his fists against the earth’s surface. His head lowered to press into his forearm. 

_ Snap! _

Harry was suddenly aware that the forest was only faintly lit by the moon. He jerked at the sound of another twig breaking. 

“What’re we looking for?”

Harry instantly toppled over at the close proximity of Luna Lovegood. 

“Merlin, fuck!” His voice cracked halfway through the swear. Harry held a hand over his chest, “How long have you been there?!” 

Luna was crouched in a similar position as he had been in, her fingers pressed into the dirt as if she had been digging. Her almost-white hair seemed to glow in their otherwise dark surroundings. 

“Hm, I suppose,” she owlishly blinked, “eight minutes.”

“Eight minutes?!” 

“Yes, you sounded awfully upset. Are you alright, Harry?” 

Harry felt his cheeks burn in embarrassment. He stood upright and self-consciously brushed the mud off of his trousers but only managed to spread out the dirt. He side-stepped her question. 

“Why didn’t you just say something?”

Luna shook her head, her dirigible plum earrings bobbing with the movement. “You’re rather difficult to talk to when you’re upset.”

“That’s just grand,” Harry tetchily said. 

“I thought it better to wait.” 

“But,” Harry couldn’t help the suspicion in his voice when he asked, “how would you have even known if you found whatever I was looking for or not?”

“I would know,” Luna told him with such easy conviction that Harry couldn’t find it in himself to doubt her. 

“So, you’ve just been...digging. Right here. Next to me.”

Luna perked upwards and pointed towards the opposite end of the path. “And there.” She swivelled towards the left and dreamily sighed at what seemed to be a particularly gnarled looking shrub. “Not there. You skipped that one. I suspect the Gernumblies were herding us here.” 

“What are—Nevermind. Forget it. Why’d you stay if I’m, er,” Harry winced, “difficult.”

“Because,” Luna folded her dirtied hands in her lap and looked up at him, “you looked like you needed help.” 

A wave of affection crashed over Harry for the woman who was in front of him. Luna hadn’t been the person he had intended on getting help from when he sprinted into the forest, but in his gut, Harry knew that he wasn’t meant to find the Resurrection Stone. 

Harry held out a hand to help Luna stand. With two quick utterances of _ Scourgify,_ they were cleaned up.

“What brought you here anyways?” Harry knocked their shoulders together as they began to walk, “Aside from watching me make an arse of myself digging through mud.”

“Mud has rejuvenating properties, you know,” Luna confided with a whimsical voice. “Daddy says every family should keep at least seventeen jars of Shrivelfig mud in the house at all times.”

Harry’s mouth quirked into a grin. “I’ll have to remember that.” 

“Anyways,” Luna shoved a hand into the satchel that hung from her shoulder. Harry instinctively leaned away when she pulled out a bloody slab of meat. “I offered to watch over the Thestrals while Hagrid’s away.” 

“Away?” Harry’s brow furrowed. “Away where?”

“Romania. He’s gone to visit Norberta.” 

Harry hummed in understanding, and a familiar fondness for the quirky Gamekeeper warmed him. The pair walked in silence towards what Harry assumed was the Thestrals’ clearing. He had to squint to be sure. With each step, he deliberated how to possibly verbalize the thoughts in his head without breaking the contract he signed. The sharp clicking of a beak brought Harry’s gaze up from the ground. 

Somehow, Harry had forgotten how eerily beautiful the winged creatures were. He watched Luna hold out her palm flat, offering the piece of meat to the slowly approaching animal. Harry’s eyes flitted between Luna’s peaceful profile and the willowy wings of the Thestral. The open display of trust between the two beings pushed Harry to finally speak.

“I can’t do wandless magic.”

Luna turned her face towards him as she kept feeding the Thestral. There wasn’t judgement or even confusion when she pointed out, “You used to.”

Harry stared down at his wrists and her knowing gaze followed. 

“We all wondered...” She quietly tapered off. “Ron said something happened to you during a mission. He wasn’t even sure what it was, and you never told us yourself. All we knew was that you started to wear those.”

“Robards didn’t fancy the idea of me telling anyone.” 

“I don’t think that’s it,” Luna mused. 

Harry fiddled with his wand. “No?”

“Not entirely,” She peacefully amended. “You would have told us if you wanted to.”

A heady dose of guilt weighed his shoulders down. 

“You’re right,” Harry admitted. 

“Thought so.” Luna turned back towards the Thestral and ran her hand along its neck. “Ginny’s guess was that they were a talisman for the dead. Hermione and Neville agreed.” 

Harry’s jaw slackened. 

“You don’t tend to let things go,” Luna clarified without an ounce of scrutiny when Harry didn’t reply. 

“They’re not talismans.” Harry avoided meeting her eyes as he started to pet the other side of the Thestral. 

“I didn’t think so.” 

Harry’s hand paused over the side of the Thestral. He felt the steady thrum of its heart beneath his palm. The constant _ thump _ anchored him. 

“I couldn’t control my magic,” Harry finally told Luna. He was reminded of the furious flush that had painted Malfoy’s pale throat. Closing his eyes, Harry continued, “I was a risk on missions, so Kingsley and Robards decided it was easiest to restrict my magic.” 

At the resounding silence, Harry opened his eyes. 

Luna stared at Harry over the spine of the Thestral. Her head was slightly angled towards the side, eyes clearer than Harry had ever seen. She wasn’t somewhere far away. Luna was entirely present and looking at Harry with a determination he wasn’t used to.

“Do you remember what Dumbledore told us?” 

Harry’s hand limply dropped to his side at Dumbledore’s name. He awkwardly sputtered, “Er. Which time?” 

“_If the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right, and what is easy...” _

They stared at each other as her dreamlike voice echoed in the wood. Harry took an unsteady step backwards as the speech replayed louder and louder inside his head. 

“I,” He blinked a few times and jerkily shook his head. “Sorry, I need to go.” 

Luna’s expression morphed into a brilliant grin that reached her eyes. She resumed petting the Thestral. “Good luck, Harry.”

***

Harry hadn’t managed to get his erratic breathing under control by the time he started knocking on Malfoy’s door. 

“Potter, do you have any idea what time it is?” 

“Actually,” Harry frowned, “I don’t.”

Harry faintly heard a garble of words that sounded a lot like, “of course you don’t.” 

“Er, sorry?” Harry tried. 

“Too late for that.” Malfoy loudly sighed. “Come in.” 

Harry let himself inside with a press of his palm and quickly shut the door when he noticed Malfoy was tying his blindfold. Unsurprisingly, Malfoy was sat on his chair with an impressively thick volume on his lap. When the blindfold was fastened, Malfoy laced his fingers together on top of the book.

“What could you possibly want?”

Harry faltered. “You said I could come back.”

Malfoy clicked his tongue. “Not at _ nine _ in the evening, Potter.”

“Sorry,” Harry sighed. “I needed to...It doesn’t matter, actually. Can I stay?” 

“Unfortunate as it might be, there’s isn’t anything for you to observe.” Malfoy’s drawling tone revealed he thought the circumstance was anything _ but _unfortunate. “The clock was returned to Gannon after I dealt with it, so you might as well be on your way. Day two is done.”

“Technically,” Harry dragged out the word as he took a seat opposite Malfoy, “today isn’t over.” 

“Right.” Malfoy gestured towards the book in his lap. “Are you just going to stare at me while I read about the uses of Wiggentree bark in the seventeenth century?” 

“Uh, no,” Harry’s nose wrinkled. 

Malfoy snapped the book shut. A small plume of dust puffed out of the spine. He rested his narrow chin on his hand and waited. 

“I had an idea,” Harry finally said.

“I’ll mark the occasion on my calendar.”

Harry snorted out a laugh and rolled his eyes. Without actual hatred, he huffed, “Fuck off.” 

“Trust me,” Malfoy droned, “if I could, I would.”

“Ah,” Harry leaned forward, gaining momentum from Malfoy’s accidental segway. “I can actually help with that.” 

Malfoy lazily rolled his fingers in the air as if to tell Harry to get on with it already.

“I’ll tell Kingsley you’re stable enough to apparate offsite with me.”

Malfoy’s carefully controlled expression didn’t waver. “For what?”

“Uh, for the case?”

“Not what I meant, Potter.” Malfoy shook his head and sat on the edge of the chair. “What do you want in return?” 

Harry briefly paused. The words were at the tip of his tongue, ready to roll off on his next exhale. All he had to do was let go. 

“I want to take the bands off.” 

Malfoy straightened his spine. 

“I don’t want to wear them anymore, but,” Harry slipped a forefinger beneath one of them, “I don’t know what...I mean, it’s been_ years _ since I’ve had to worry about controlling my magic. What if it’s worse than before?” Harry hunched over and defeatedly dropped his hands. “_Merlin_, what if—”

“Are you asking me to train you?”

Harry’s cheeks flushed, and it worsened when he registered that Malfoy would be able to feel his embarrassment. 

“You are, aren’t you?” Malfoy puzzled in slight wonderment when Harry said nothing. 

He wasn’t surprised Malfoy had read between the lines as if Harry was simply another one of his books. Harry stared at the bands on his wrists. There was a sudden sense of loathing for them that he had never felt until that day. He couldn’t believe it took Malfoy of all people to point out there was something wrong with how he had been treated. Even moreso, he was the first person Harry had bothered to tell what had happened. However, maybe those reasons were exactly _ why _ Malfoy needed to be the one to train him. Harry looked up and eyed the man across from him. 

“Yeah. I am.”

Malfoy leaned back in his chair. He pressed his slender fingers against his temple. The skin between his brows puckered. “What made you change your mind?”

“Does it matter?” 

“Yes.”

Harry worried his bottom lip between his teeth. He should have known Malfoy wouldn’t accept the revelation without needling for details. 

“Just,” Harry noisily huffed, “don’t laugh, alright?”

“The Ministry abusing you isn’t exactly comical to me these days.”

Harry deflated and slouched back against the couch cushions. 

“Alright,” he said mostly as a reassurance to himself. “The end of fourth year...” There was a flicker of tension in Malfoy’s jaw, but it was gone by the time Harry blinked. “Well. I was reminded of it tonight.”

“The graveyard?” Malfoy asked with a directness that Harry wasn’t used to other people using when talking to him about the past. Everyone tended to tip-toe around the invisible minefield Harry had laid out. 

“Not...exactly.” 

“Okay,” Malfoy easily said. He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “Diggory?”

Harry attempted to ignore the pang in his heart that was always present when someone said Cedric’s name. He tugged his glasses off and wiped a hand over his face. The marathon of emotions he had experienced that day finally hit him. 

In a low voice, Malfoy intoned, “Potter?” when Harry didn’t answer. 

“Not the graveyard or…” Harry pressed his heels into the ground to steady himself before carrying on. “It was something Dumbledore said.”

“Oh.”

“His speech,” Harry tiredly explained. “What he said about doing the right thing and not what’s easy. That’s exactly what I’ve been doing, isn’t it?”

“Being scared and taking an easy out aren’t exactly synonymous.” 

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you,” Harry muttered under his breath before he could help himself. 

“I would.”

Harry hated how honest Malfoy made his acquiesce sound. He glimpsed at Malfoy and wasn’t surprised to see that his expression, however, remained void of emotion. 

“I guess,” Harry reluctantly said after a pause. Even though he had said it first, he didn’t particularly _ want _ Malfoy to agree with him. Or Harry did want that, but when he heard it aloud, he hated it. 

Harry mentally groaned at his own idiocy.

“Do you really think you’ve been taking the easy way out?”

“I don’t know, Malfoy!” Harry rushed out. “I didn’t think I was before, but then you went and opened your big mouth.” 

“I have quite a normal sized mouth, I’ll have you know.” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Oh, har har.” 

“Regardless, given your innate need to martyr yourself,” Malfoy spoke over Harry’s interjected groan, “I don’t believe you knowingly took the easy way out.”

“It doesn’t matter if I_ knowingly _ did shit.” Harry looked up at the domed ceiling, vaguely aware that he was trying to convince himself rather than Malfoy. “I still did it.”

“Potter, can I offer you a piece of advice?” 

“Might as well,” Harry somewhat hysterically scoffed. “You’re already on a roll.” 

“Stop beating yourself up about things that you _ can _ change.” 

Harry frowned. 

“Stop frowning.” Malfoy sighed, “I can feel you moping from all the way over there.” 

Harry pointedly ignored the accurate callout and focussed on the advice. “What do you mean things I can change? I can’t change that I’ve been wearing these blasted things for the last four years.”

“It’s not as black and white as that.”

“Then what it is?” Harry impatiently asked. 

“Merlin help me,” Malfoy mumbled and abruptly stood. He stalked towards the kitchenette. “Drink?”

Harry vacillated, “I—Sure?”

Malfoy silently procured a bottle of Ogden’s and two tumblers. He walked back towards Harry with an intimidating amount of Firewhisky poured into each glass. 

“Uh, thanks.” 

Harry was sure his face was screwed up in confusion as he took the proffered drink. 

“When I left Azkaban...” 

Was what Malfoy unexpectedly started with, causing Harry to unattractively choke on his mouthful of Firewhisky. He painfully cleared his throat and banged a fist against his chest. Malfoy, unimpressed, pursed his lips and waited. 

“You’re worse than an untrained Crup.” 

“Yeah, I...know,” Harry wheezed out. He thumped his chest once more. “Don’t mind me. Carry on.” 

“As I was saying,” Malfoy paused as Harry let out another cough, “when I left Azkaban, I was assigned therapy sessions with Healer Blackshaw. It was all rather clinical. She’d ask me about the decisions I made during the war and my detachment let me answer honestly.” 

“I didn’t even think about that,” Harry honestly said, feeling completely out of his depth. 

“Shacklebolt and Robards did.”

“Why do I feel like I don’t actually want to know what you mean by that?”

“Because you don’t.”

Harry was weary to find out, but his gut told him that it was something he needed to know. 

“Tell me?” Harry stared down at the amber liquid and gently tacked on, “Only if you want.” 

Malfoy took a long pull from his glass and mulled over his words before speaking. 

“Coming out of the war, I wasn’t loyal to either side. However, Robards knew that given the right circumstances, I could be swayed.”

“Right circumstances?”

“My mother dying.” 

“Oh.”

Malfoy ambiguously hummed. 

“Do you think…”

“Careful,” Malfoy warned.

Harry had an unmistakable feeling that Malfoy said it for Harry’s benefit. He didn’t ask the question aloud, but he couldn’t help thinking of it.

_ Do you think Robards had Narcissa killed? _

The idea alone nearly made him retch. 

Harry downed his glass without pretense and then grabbed the bottle from the countertop. After Malfoy finished off his dregs, Harry mutely filled it, then his own. Bottle still in hand, Harry slumped to the floor. He rested his head back against the couch cushion and drowsily asked, “Are you gonna join me down here or not?”

He grinned at the sound of Malfoy’s chair squeaking, but was too mentally exhausted to jerk back at the feeling of Malfoy’s ankle knocking against his thigh. 

“You said circumstances,” Harry finally said. 

“I did.”

“Plural.”

“That’s correct.”

Harry waited. 

“With Mother dead, I didn’t have anyone else’s security to worry over. It was just me,” Malfoy plainly said without an ounce of feeling. 

“So they offered you a job,” Harry supplied. 

“That came after.” 

“After?”

“They took away anything that would make me _ less obliging _to help with investigations.”

“Hold on. Your emotions…” Harry lifted his chin. “Is that why they were the first to be hijacked?” 

The moment the question was out of his mouth, Harry knew it to be true. He nearly dropped his glass as his eyes bore into Malfoy’s continued placid expression.

“Well done, Auror.” Malfoy tapped the pad of his finger against his nose. “They’d ask questions and my responses weren’t altered by emotions like a normal person’s would have been. Think of it as a different brand of Veritaserum.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Harry swore and took a gulp of his drink. He couldn’t tell if the heat pulsating through his veins was from alcohol or indignation. Probably a heavy mix of both.

“Most of the information Aurors have on the Death Eaters came from me,” Malfoy lucidly told him. “Names. Safehouses. Vows.” 

“I didn’t know,” Harry obviously stated. He felt like a complete imbecile for never digging deeper into Robard’s supposed sources. Harry had always assumed that it came from the Unspeakables. “What about Blackshaw?” 

After a lengthy sip, Malfoy parroted back, “What about Blackshaw?”

“She was fine with her patient being subjected to,” Harry fruitlessly searched for an appropriate word to describe Malfoy’s sentence, “_that _?”

“I’m more of an experiment to her than an actual patient,” Malfoy half-shrugged. 

“You’re not an experiment,” Harry bitterly scoffed. 

Malfoy tilted his glass towards Harry. “Neither are you.” 

He remembered their argument that morning and the puzzle pieces were finally fitting together. Harry looked down at where Malfoy’s ankle remained pressed against Harry’s side. He kept his eyes trained on the cuff of Malfoy’s speckled joggers when he asked, “Is that why you got so angry earlier?” 

“I’ve done horrific things,” Malfoy murmured. Harry’s gaze snatched away from Malfoy’s ankle and landed on his face. “Things that for the most part, warrant the sentence I got.”

“What they chose was just,” Harry shook his head, the movement somewhat lethargic from Firewhisky, “cruel. Borderline inhumane.”

“And exactly what I deserve for acting that way for eighteen years. I _ was _ cruel and inhumane.”

“Malfoy—”

“It’s the truth,” Malfoy calmly told him. “You, however,” Malfoy tightly shook his head, “you didn’t do horrific things.” He raised his Firewhisky to take another sip, but paused with the glass an inch from his lips. “You didn’t deserve to have anything else taken from you, Potter.” 

They drank in silence. Harry wondered if the overwhelmed feeling inside his head would ever lessen. Every conversation brought with it an additional layer of Malfoy’s history to be stripped back. Looking at Malfoy’s unreadable profile for clues, Harry already knew in his heart that it would never be over. He would never know Malfoy’s history. Not to its full extent, anyways. 

“What did you mean earlier about things that I can change?”

“Blackshaw has a theory that there are only two things in life that we can’t change. Birth and death. Although, you seem to defy the second basic rule of nature, don’t you?”

Harry bit back a grin even though Malfoy couldn’t see it. “Only once or twice.” 

Malfoy made a noise at the back of his throat and laid flat. His ankle slipped away from Harry with the movement. He folded his arms behind his head, hair pooling around him like a halo. Harry subconsciously stared at the tendril looping over Malfoy’s covered forearm. 

“But,” Harry doubted as he continued to watch Malfoy’s laxed frame, “the choices you make along the way are still permanent. You can’t take them back.” 

“Try to think of it like this,” Malfoy deliberated. “How many different routes do you think there are to go from London to Edinburgh?” 

Harry’s features scrunched up. “What on Earth are you going on about?”

“Just answer the question.”

“I don’t know, hundreds?” Harry exasperated. He held his hands out by his side. “Thousands, maybe?”

“Thousands of destinations to one place?”

Harry shrugged, “I suppose.”

“If your life had one certain destination, that would be...” 

“What?”

“Answer the question.”

“Fine. I guess, death?”

“If death is the only concrete outcome, everything else leading up to it isn’t concrete. It can’t be. They’re just different routes to the end.”

“That’s incredibly grim.”

“It’s not.”

Harry genuinely laughed at the readiness Malfoy had responded to his statement. “Go on then. Tell me why I’m wrong.”

Malfoy crossed one foot over the other. 

“We both know you want to,” Harry sing-songed. 

“If you insist,” Malfoy exasperatedly told him as if it was the most taxing thing to do. Harry was pleased to see the Firewhisky had begun to take its effect. “You said there are thousands of ways to Edinburgh, right?” 

Harry made a noise in agreement and took another drink. 

“Imagine life functioning the same way. You can make a thousand different choices, but they all will inevitably end the same way. Example, you chose to accept those, to be perfectly honest, _ horrendous _restraints. Fine. You can still change what happens next in your life by picking a new course. By learning how to control your magic. Do that, and you’re on a new road.”

Harry soaked in the idea and mirrored Malfoy’s position. He flicked his wand, muttered _ Nox, _ and allowed the darkness to blanket both of them. Closing his eyes, Harry thought of what Luna had told him. Admittedly, Harry knew he had a blatant inability to let things go. Was it even possible to change that about himself? He wondered if he had spent the last five years thinking of things the way Malfoy did, would he have saved himself a lot of strife? 

_ You can still change what happens next in your life by picking a new course. _

If Malfoy was right, he could change everything starting that moment. 

“I like the way you think about things,” Harry quietly said after what must have been twenty minutes of utter silence. He surprised himself by the truth of his words. 

The only response was rhythmic breathing. Malfoy had fallen asleep some time ago.


	5. Five

Harry sat up and drowsily dragged himself to his feet with a slight groan. His joints uncomfortably creaked. Tiredly, Harry looked from Malfoy’s spot on the floor to the neatly made bed. He blinked a few times and weighed the consequences of waking the snoozing wizard. Decidedly, Harry gave into temptation. 

“Malfoy,” Harry groggily said. When he didn’t move, Harry nudged his foot into Malfoy’s side, “C’mon, wake up.”

After a guttural groan, Malfoy swung an arm out and thwacked Harry in the shin with the back of his hand. Harry let out a whoosh of air and rubbed the sore spot. 

“Fuck. Off.”

A grin stretched over Harry’s face at the gravelly tone of Malfoy’s voice. It diminished the uppity poshness that Malfoy wore like a well-loved cloak. Never one to heed caution, Harry nudged Malfoy for a second time. 

“You insufferable cretin,” Malfoy grated.

_ Uppity poshness still intact, then_. 

“Cretin, is it? Thought I was an untrained Crup.” Harry tilted his head to the side. “Or does it change by hour?” 

“By hour,” Malfoy easily answered as if they were having a perfectly normal conversation. Harry assumed it had something to do with it being the middle of the night. 

“Obviously,” Harry seriously agreed. He nattered on, “Still, you should get up. Your back will murder tomorrow if you sleep like that.”

Malfoy heavily dropped his hand back to the floor. He somehow sighed with his entire body before raising himself to a sitting position. The blindfold fell, but Malfoy didn’t move to fix it. Rather, he waved away the overhead light, and a dimly lit orb appeared one second later. It slowly floated past Harry’s shoulder and towards the door as if it was a guide gently showing Harry out. Harry felt an odd warmth filling his cheeks. 

Gradually, he stepped towards the exit. His gaze remained locked on Malfoy’s fluid movements as he rose to his feet. Malfoy carded his fingers through his hair and shook out the knots. He turned his back to Harry without another word and walked into the bathroom. 

Harry stood, rooted in place. He stared at the closed door with his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. Shaking himself out of quasi reverie, Harry let himself out of the studio. 

**** 

When Harry woke up the next day, sometime nearing noon, he felt like complete and utter rubbish. 

“Merlin,” Harry garbled and instantly regretted doing so because he quickly became aware of the sour taste in his mouth. 

With a screwed up expression, Harry hauled himself upright and scrubbed his hands over his face. He paused when they curved over his chin. His beard was longer, dryer, and frankly, scratchier, than normal. 

“What’s happening to me?” He groaned. 

In response, there was an almost offensive rumble from his stomach. 

Harry frowned as he stared down at his body. He was still clothed in his outfit from the day before. The frown on his face deepened. Were his clothes from _ two _ days ago? His stomach rumbled again as if he had forgotten about it. Merlin, maybe he had. Harry defeatedly dropped his hands. When was the last time he even ate? 

For the first time in a few days, Harry was forcibly reminded that physical health existed. 

_ “Have I looked this bad since we got here, Bass?” _

Bass stayed on the opposite side of the room and corrected Harry,_ “Dreadful.” _

_ “Dreadful, that’s just excellent,” _ Harry sarcastically scoffed. _ “At any point were you going to point this,” _ he wildly gestured to his own frame, _ “out to me?” _

_ “Gave me spots.” _ Bass stretched out to his full length, purposefully showing off his coloration. _ “Am more handsome than you now.” _

_ “I didn’t realize we were in a beauty competition here.” _

_ “Competing for the good smelling one.” _

_ “The good…” _ Harry collapsed back onto his bed when he realized what Bass meant. _ “Oh, fucks sake. We are not, in any way, shape or form, competing for Malfoy.” _

_ “Because I have already won,” _ Bass excitedly wiggled across the rug. _ “Am more handsome than you. Have more spots than you!” _

Harry craned his neck to shoot a hard glare at Bass. 

_ “‘Tis true,” _ Bass snootily sighed. _ “Golden Man prefers me.” _

_ “Golden Man?” _ Harry deadpanned. 

Bass nodded his polka dotted head.

Harry childishly mumbled._ "And I’m just the Golden Boy, right?"_

_ “Right.” _

With a determination that can only come from competing with a pompous three-foot Ball Python, Harry got his life back into some semblance of control. He purposefully ignored his reflection on his way to the shower and took his time washing up. Without any sense of rhythm, Harry swayed his hips as he brushed his teeth until they were minty and foamy. He spat and allowed himself a minute to do nothing but stand under the spray. Surrounded by a cocoon of steam, the tangled knots in his back unwound, and the tension pinching his neck finally loosened. Cleaner and slightly more confident of his general existence, Harry clambered out of the shower.

Harry braved facing the mirror next. Candidly, he was thankful he decided to shower first. If the borderline-mountain-beard was anything to go by, Malfoy’s caveman comment wasn’t terribly far off base. _ Not that any of this is about Malfoy, _Harry reminded himself.

Ten minutes later, Harry had finished shearing off the majority of his facial hair. He washed his face, patted himself dry, and gave an approving lookover in the mirror. The beard and mustache were more of a dusting now. Harry dully realized he hadn’t seen that jawline and sharp cheekbones since he was twenty. Angling his head to the left and narrowing his eyes, he decided he might actually look better this way. 

Harry rolled his eyes at his reflection and walked away feeling more vain than he thought imaginable. Bass’ personality was rubbing off on him. 

Finally, breakfast. 

If the Ministry turned out to be good for anything, it was the stockpile of food they had supplied Harry with for the duration of his assignment. He admittedly got a bit carried away with cooking a full English fry up, but the stomach pains convinced him once he realized he had been surviving on tea, wine, and Ogden’s for the past three days. 

Rather reluctantly, Harry pulled on his Auror uniform. He would have to go to the Ministry to debrief Robards and Kingsley later in the afternoon, but he didn’t fancy the idea of wearing it around Malfoy. It felt oddly accusatory. Pushing the idea from his mind, Harry pocketed his wand and left. 

Nearing Malfoy’s studio, Harry could tell something was wrong. Raised voices were filtering from underneath the crack of the door. When he was even closer, Harry realized there was only one raised voice. 

_ “Done it on purpose, have I? How about this?” _ A startling crackle of glass breaking, echoed into the hallway. _ “You couldn’t possibly know when you can’t see nothing, you absolute piece of shite.” _

Harry slammed his hand onto the door and heard the mechanics unlock. His palm stung against the frigid metal, but he barely felt it. Harry wildly shoved the door open. Blood roared in his ears when he saw Gannon holding Malfoy’s blindfold. A swift glance to take in Malfoy’s unharmed profile wasn’t remotely enough to settle the searing temper that coursed through Harry. 

“Potter, don’t—” 

Whatever Malfoy was going to say was cut off by the vicious flick of Harry’s wand and a growled, “_Protego!_”

The invisible shield shoved Gannon away from Malfoy with a brute force that Harry hadn’t previously seen accompany the charm. Harry’s lips drew back in a snarl as he instinctively pointed his wand at the guard. He glowered at the cumulous mess of shattered glass and food that was splattered across the floor. 

“What happened?” Harry roughly asked Gannon between his clenched teeth. 

Gannon sneered back, blatant dislike burning in his beady, coal eyes. “What’re you looking at me for, Potter?”

“_Auror _Potter, mind you,” Harry coldly corrected. He took a step closer towards Gannon. “I’ll ask again, what happened?”

“Nothing,” Gannon and Malfoy said in unison. 

Harry scrutinized Malfoy’s purposefully placid expression. His milky eyes were determinedly open, but Harry didn’t miss the brief pinch of tension at the corners. He was distracted by the way Malfoy’s gaze narrowed in his direction as if to warn him. Malfoy subtly brought his hands to his chest and raised his shoulders more than necessary as he inhaled. 

_ Great, a new therapist. Nevertheless one that can feel people’s emotions. _

Reluctantly, Harry lowered his wand and deeply inhaled through his nose. He reminded himself of the amount of paperwork he’d have waiting for him if he cursed Gannon. Harry counted backwards from ten and unevenly released his breath at the same time as Malfoy. 

“I’ll take it from here,” Harry eventually said. He held his hand out expectantly. “It’s time for you to head out.” Gannon broadened his stance, but Harry was still too furious to be remotely intimidated by the guard. His expression hardened. “I wasn’t asking, Gannon.” 

Gannon stalked towards him and shoved the blindfold into Harry’s hand. They sized each other up with mutual disdain. Gannon leaned imperceptibly closer and lowered his voice, “I’ll make sure Robards knows you’re obstructing my duties.” 

“Good,” Harry tightened his grip on the blindfold, “because _ I’ll _ make sure the _ Minister _ knows why I did it.”

Harry had better leverage with his threat, and both of them knew it. Gannon’s eyes flashed towards Malfoy and without thought, Harry positioned himself between them. He crossed his arms and jerked his chin towards the door. “_Go_.”

Giving Harry one last withering leer, Gannon turned on his heel and stormed out. The door slammed behind him. A dull echoe rang out until all Harry heard was his own harsh breathing. He closed his eyes and forced himself to lessen the deathgrip he had on his wand. Then, slow-paced clapping began. Harry’s eyes shot back open at the patronizing sound. 

“Excellent work, Potter. I’ll sleep better tonight knowing my groceries are safe while you’re next door.”

Harry turned back around to face Malfoy and ignored the blatant sarcasm. From what he could tell, Malfoy didn’t appear to be physically hurt or terribly ruffled by the ordeal. There was thick pasta sauce dripping off his front, but that was the only clue something had happened. Sincerely, he asked, “Are you okay?” 

Malfoy leaned back against the countertop and folded his arms. “I was okay before you bumbled in here like a brainless brute.” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “I couldn’t exactly just stand there and do nothing.”

“Right.” Malfoy humorlessly chuckled. “This is _ you _ we’re talking about.”

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit, Malfoy.” 

“Bullshit is it?” Malfoy marginally raised his voice, “I've been dealing with Gannon for _ years_. I didn’t need you to barge in here and play the hero.”

“Are you really gonna be a twat about this?” Harry’s face contorted in confusion. “Should I have let him get on with it? Wait until he bloody well smashed through all your belongings?”

Malfoy groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. Pink dusted the height of his cheeks. 

“No, really. I’m genuinely asking here,” Harry prodded. There was residual fire in his voice from his argument with Gannon. “What would you have me do so I stop acting like a...what was it this time? Oh, right! A brainless brute.”

“That’s not—_ No_,” Malfoy dropped his hand and tiredly shook his head. 

“No?”

Malfoy was mumbling to himself under his breath and there was a faint tremor in his hand. Harry took a cautious step towards him. There was a rawness to his frenetic energy that had been shielded from Harry since he arrived at Gringotts. Harry barely caught Malfoy whispering, “This isn’t what I wanted to happen.”

“Tell me what you do want, then.” Harry slightly quieted his voice and opted for blunt honesty. “‘Cos I know that I’m fucking_ exhausted _ from going in circles.”

Harry thought about the way he hadn’t been taking care of himself for the last few days. It now seemed obvious that the accumulation of bad habits was a result of emotional exhaustion. The constant ups and downs with Malfoy had taken their toll. Even so, Harry wasn’t going to run away. Not again. He would rupture their pattern because the pieces of Malfoy he had seen during their “ups” was intoxicating. Harry wanted more of it, and he had a feeling that somewhere buried inside of the other wizard, Malfoy wanted it too. 

“Yesterday, we agreed to help each other. To be partners.” Harry carefully toed around the mess on the floor as he closed the distance between them. He slowly reached out for Malfoy’s hand and gently uncurled Malfoy’s fingers. He placed the blindfold on Malfoy’s open palm. “I’m _ choosing _to trust you,” Harry told him as he stared down at their overlapping fingers. He closed Malfoy’s hand and took a step back. Harry finished with a murmured, “You gotta meet me halfway, though.” 

Malfoy’s lips parted as he thumbed over the gauzy material. He turned away from Harry and deftly tied the blindfold back on. Malfoy stood with his back to Harry. 

Harry held his breath and waited. 

“Okay.” 

Relief soothed Harry like a calming balm. 

Malfoy turned back around, and there was a flicker of nervousness that passed over his expression. A crease formed along his forehead. There was a pregnant moment of hesitation, and then Malfoy held out his hand. 

Deja-vu hit Harry like a soaring dagger. He stared at the pale hand outstretched towards him. 

This was it. 

It was the moment where a new course began and for the first time in their lives, they would go together. 

Harry took Malfoy’s hand. 

A grounding sensation stemmed from where Malfoy’s warm skin met his own. Up close, Harry saw a silvery scar that traced the hollow of Malfoy’s left cheek. Somehow he had never noticed it before. Malfoy lightly tightened his grip. The pad of Harry’s thumb brushed over Malfoy’s middle knuckle. 

Harry was fixated on the Adam's Apple in Malfoy’s throat when Malfoy eased his hold. He was reluctant to follow suit. Harry wanted to ruminate in the moment, instinctively knowing in his gut that their lives had changed with the gesture. When they separated, Malfoy’s head was angled to the side and there was a questioning curve to his brow. 

“If you’d like,” Harry scanned the wreckage that still covered the floor, “I’ll clean up here while you wash up.” To lighten the tension that lingered in the room, Harry added, “No offense, but you’re a right mess.”

There was a new hint of warmth in Malfoy’s lucid expression. He nodded and walked to the washroom. Malfoy paused with his hand on the doorknob. He turned his face towards Harry’s direction and murmured, “Potter...thank you.”

The grounding sensation comfortably rooted itself in Harry’s chest. Just as softly, he responded, “You’re welcome.” 

Harry carried on to clean the remnants of Gannon’s chaos while Malfoy changed out of his marinara covered clothes. It was quiet, but for the first time in days, Harry felt at peace. He brewed them tea, and passed a cuppa to Malfoy when he returned fifteen minutes later. Mugs in hand, they wordlessly moved towards the living area and sat across from each other on the rug. Harry vaguely wondered if it had become an unspoken thing for them. After a few minutes, Harry broke the comfortable silence. 

“Does Gannon always—”

“Degrade me?” Malfoy unfeelingly chimed in.

“I was going to say, purposely knock things over. But, sure. That, too.” 

“Yes to the first,” Malfoy scoffed. “And only most of the time to the second.” 

Harry didn’t bother to hide his disgust as he bit out, “Bastard.” 

Malfoy’s head curiously tilted like it had earlier. Harry could tell that he was thinking something over. He reached forward and tapped Malfoy’s shin with his knuckles. Malfoy easily swatted him away. 

“Can I help you?” Malfoy drawled. 

“Yeah, thanks for asking.” Harry grinned at the unimpressed expression on Malfoy’s face. He carried on and asked, “What were you thinking about? You had this...look on your face.”

“I had a look?” Malfoy dully repeated. 

“Yeah.”

“And what _ look _ would that be?” 

“Confused?” Harry’s nose crinkled. “Sorta uncertain.”

“Are you asking or telling me.”

“Both.”

The right side of Malfoy’s mouth twitched upwards and Harry’s stomach did an odd swoop. He cleared his throat. “So? What was it?”

Malfoy splayed his hands on the tops of his thighs. He drummed his fingers against the lean muscle. “You were furious earlier.” 

“I think we’ve established as much.”

“I—_You _ felt so much. Your magic seemed like it was going to explode if it didn’t go anywhere.” 

Harry buried his hands in his hair and ducked his head even though Malfoy couldn’t see him. He kept his face down as he awkwardly guessed, “And you didn’t...like...that.”

“I don’t know,” Malfoy honestly answered. He drew his lower lip between his teeth. Malfoy shook his head. “I couldn’t focus on anything else. Only your anger.” 

“Uh,” Harry’s cheeks flushed. He glanced at Malfoy and tried to gather his thoughts. Embarrassment and regret for his own emotions clouded them. He uncomfortably threw in a, “Sorry?” 

“Don’t.” There was an apologetic tilt to Malfoy’s mouth. “What I’m trying to say is I haven’t felt something like that for years.” Malfoy’s eyebrows suddenly drew together. “I haven’t felt _ anything _for years.”

Harry gaped at Malfoy as understanding dawned on him. 

“I could feel every bit of your anger, though. It was different from reading wavelengths.” 

Hope and happiness mixed together at the revelation. Harry excitedly marveled, “Malfoy, that’s incredible! I knew you could. I knew it! You’ve just been out of practice.” 

Mutely, Malfoy shrugged.

Harry’s shoulders slumped from the reaction. “You don’t think it's a good thing?”

Malfoy still didn’t answer. 

“You don’t,” Harry incredulously stated. 

Malfoy heavily sighed. “I don’t know, Potter.” 

“How could it possibly be a bad thing?” Harry disbelievingly asked.

“I’m a better man when I don’t…” Malfoy shook his head and gingerly took a sip from his mug.

Sadness clouded Harry’s features. “Malfoy—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Malfoy easily spoke over Harry. “I’ll be gone soon enough.”

Harry’s face screwed up. “What?” 

“Don’t worry, your case will probably be done by then,” Malfoy dismissively said. 

“No,” Harry shook his head, “what do you mean _ you’ll be gone_?”

Malfoy paused as if Harry was being intentionally thick. When he must have realized Harry wasn’t, he carefully enunciated, “My sentence is nearly done.”

Harry couldn’t believe he hadn’t even considered Malfoy’s release as part of the equation. He pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. 

“When?”

“June thirtieth.” 

Shock flooded Harry. His brain was a jumbled mess as he did the mental math. “The thirtieth? Of _ this _ June? That’s just…”

“Twenty-eight days.”

Harry stared at Malfoy with wide eyes. He didn’t know why he felt panicked by the limited amount of days. It wasn’t because he wanted Malfoy to continue to suffer. That wasn’t it at all. Harry frowned at his kneecaps.

“What will you do?” Harry’s voice came out abnormally weak. 

“Leave.”

“Gringotts?”

“London,” Malfoy corrected. 

Harry felt like he was slowly sinking. “Oh.”

“My inheritance will no longer be frozen. Merlin knows there’s more than enough there to support me for a few lifetimes.”

“Sounds about right,” Harry muttered. “Would you go back to Wiltshire?” 

“Never,” Malfoy said with a hardened tone. 

Harry nodded in understanding. “Understandable.”

Malfoy noncommittally hummed. 

“If it's a no to London and Wiltshire,” Harry dragged out, “where?”

“Somewhere open.” 

“That’s rather vague.”

“Perhaps.”

There was a dreamlike quality to Malfoy’s following sigh that Harry wasn’t used to. Harry was reminded of the days he spent in his cupboard before he knew the magical world existed. Hours of faraway dreams had filled his head of places he would go if he could. Belatedly, Harry understood that Gringotts was Malfoy’s cupboard. 

“So, somewhere open, huh?” Harry hummed in interest. “Pick a place with room to fly and I’ll come by for a Seeker’s match.” 

Surprise shattered Malfoy’s composed expression. 

At his expression, Harry nervously rubbed at the back of his neck. He belatedly realized that Malfoy might never want to see another Ministry worker, let alone Harry, for the rest of his life. He awkwardly amended, “I mean...only if you’d like. Obviously.”

Malfoy’s mouth formed a circle and his eyebrows were still shot towards his hairline. His fingertips pressed into his thighs before they immediately relaxed. It seemed like his body and mind were completely disconnected. After what must have only been a few seconds, Malfoy had visibly reel himself back in until there was nothing left but blank indifference. 

Interestingly, Harry found that it didn’t bother him anymore. He would learn to be patient because what mattered was Malfoy knowing he _ could _ feel. The rest would follow in tow. 

“Think you can catch me, Potter?” Malfoy teased with a calculated smirk.

Harry unabashedly grinned back. “Oh, I _ know _ I can.”

Malfoy good-naturedly scoffed and nursed the rest of his drink. Harry started to trace nonsensical patterns into the carpet with the tip of his finger. 

“Lake District.” 

Harry looked up, startled. “Huh?”

“That’s where I’ll go.” 

“Ah ha!” Harry perked up. “You _ did _ have somewhere specific in mind.” 

Malfoy looked like the cat that ate the canary.

“I’ve never been there.” 

“I have. Once.” 

“Why there? Wouldn’t that be a bit, uh,” Harry’s forehead wrinkled, “boring?”

“Quiet,” Malfoy amended.

“Same thing.” 

“How very Gryffindor of you,” Malfoy intoned. “Quiet and boring are _ very _ different things.” 

“Fine,” Harry acquiesced. “Still doesn’t answer why you’d pick there.” 

“You’ll think I’m ridiculous.”

Harry blew out a raspberry. “I already do.” 

“Fair enough.” The corner of Malfoy’s mouth quirked upwards. He rubbed a hand over his shoulder blade. “It’s a mix of Wiltshire and...well, Hogwarts. Similar view minus the bad memories.” 

After the war, Harry never remotely contemplated moving anywhere other than London. It was where the Ministry and Grimmauld were. Most of his friends were in London, too. Of course, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were in Devon, but they always seemed relatively close because of Floo. Was that all the Lake District was? Removed, but only one grate away? What about the rest of England? The world, even? Harry propped his chin on his kneecaps and wondered, not for the first time, if he had pigeonholed himself. 

“I don’t think that’s ridiculous,” Harry honestly told Malfoy. He fiddled with the hem of his trousers. “Can’t really speak for Wiltshire, but Hogwarts...I mean, it’s the only place I’ve lived that....” Harry felt a knot growing in his throat so he stopped. “Anyways,” he shrugged and tried for casualty, “I don’t think it’s ridiculous to want to live somewhere like it.” 

“Do you ever go back?”

“To Hogwarts?”

Malfoy nodded. 

Harry thought of his recent escapade to the Forbidden Forest and winced. He decided to ignore that incident. 

“Sometimes. It’s not really the same, though. It’s been rebuilt, obviously, so it _ looks _ the same.” Harry sighed, “But, it’s not exactly filled with great memories for me, either.”

“No, I don’t suppose it would be.” 

Pushing past the gravity weighing on his chest, Harry circled back. “You said you went to Lake District once?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about it?” Harry lightly asked. He laid down with his back against the floor and closed his eyes. “Pretty sure I saw a few pictures of the lakes in one of my aunt’s old travel magazines. Which is actually ridiculous because that family would rather be cursed than travel north of Luton.” 

“Is this the family that raised you?”

“If you wanna use an extremely loose interpretation of ‘raised’, yeah.” Harry bitterly named them off, “Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and their ickle son, Dudley.”

Malfoy paused before bluntly stating, “Those are horrendous names.”

A low chuckle rumbled in Harry’s chest and grew into a full belly laugh. When he caught his breath, he peeked an eye open to see Malfoy looking rather pleased with himself. 

“Glad you think so because they’re horrendous people.” Harry calmed himself down and satedly sighed. “Enough about them, though. Tell me about your trip. How old were you?” 

“It was for my sixth birthday, actually. We took a Portkey to a small village there called Hawkshead.”

“Really?” Harry whistled in disbelief. He let out a breathy chuckle. “I never would have expected six-year-old Malfoy to spend his birthday out in nature. Or a quaint village, for that matter.” 

“Yes, well, I wasn’t always a rotten child,” Malfoy dryly stated. 

Any residual laughter died in Harry’s mouth. 

“Surprising, isn’t it?” Malfoy monotonously huffed. 

Malfoy laid down and Harry turned on his side to look at him. He swallowed the apology on the tip of his tongue. Harry knew Malfoy wouldn’t want it. Instead, he propped himself on his elbow and waited for Malfoy to continue. When Malfoy did speak, his voice rang with gentle reverie. 

“Mother used to tell me stories about magical beasts that roamed the mountains and swam in the lakes. We must’ve spent hours in the study together.” Malfoy purposefully deadened his tone. “Of course, she was just entertaining me while Father was on business. They were just stories.” 

“Doesn’t mean they can’t be important to you,” Harry thoughtfully commented. 

Malfoy hummed in a way that made Harry think he didn’t believe him in the slightest. He rested a hand on his stomach and said, “I don’t think she expected me to become consumed by them to the point where I was begging to go for my birthday. Regardless, we went for the day.”

“Just you two?” Harry carefully asked. 

“Father thought folklore was beneath the Malfoy name.” His jaw visibly tightened. “He didn’t want to encourage me by joining us.”

“Oh,” Harry murmured. 

“Yes, _ oh_,” Malfoy unfeelingly agreed. “It might come as a shock, but Lucius wasn’t a particularly loving father.”

“Not even when you were at school? I always thought...”

Malfoy’s voice was laden with ice. “Never.”

Harry waited for Malfoy’s expression to gradually shift from stony to placid before he spoke. “Is Hawkshead where you want to live?” 

“Yes.”

“I don’t know if you wanna hear it, but,” Harry hesitated a beat before acknowledging, “I think your mum would want that for you.”

Malfoy lips pressed firmly together. 

Harry felt himself toeing along a boundary and decided it was best to know when to let be. He sat upright and thoughtlessly twisted the band on his left wrist. “I have to go meet with Kingsley and Robards.” 

Malfoy raised from the floor, smoothed down his shirt, then tugged the base of his plait so it laid flat. He collected their discarded mugs and stiffly walked towards the sink. Malfoy was purposefully busying himself, Harry noted. 

“I’m going to tell them to bring you on the case,” Harry reassured Malfoy. 

Malfoy turned on the tap. “Okay.”

“I will.” 

“Alright.”

Harry took a few backward steps to leave. He steadily realized why Malfoy was closing himself off. Malfoy was worried that he was going to be alone again. Harry instantly stopped walking. 

“I _ am _ going to come back.”

Malfoy jerkily nodded, but said nothing. 

Harry raised his voice a bit louder. “I mean it, Malfoy.”

“Right,” Malfoy stiltedly chirped and kept his back to Harry. 

Harry studied Malfoy’s rigid frame and knew that after being late last time, only his actions would speak louder than words. He swallowed down meaningless words, turned around, and left. 

****

Harry stepped out of the fireplace and into the Ministry’s Atrium. It was oddly disorienting to be back in a hubbub of loud voices and bustling bodies. He had gotten used to the silence of the Gringotts’ caves. 

“Auror Potter! Great goodness. Hello there!” Excitedly squeaked a middle-aged witch with long silver hair. She had met Harry at least two dozen times before, yet somehow made every encounter sound like their first. She bustled over and didn’t stop until she was directly in front of Harry.

“Hello, Miss Chauder.” Harry pasted a kind smile on his face and craned his neck downwards to properly see her spectacled face. “How’re the birds doing?”

Miss Chauder had five birds. 

It was a fact that did not surprise Harry in the slightest.

“You remembered!” She physically swooned. Miss Chauder pulled out a photograph from the inside of her cloak. “Chickpea is molting, the poor dear.” 

Harry stared down at the plump purple parakeet that looked more homely than usual. 

“Uh,” Harry awkwardly drawled, “sorry to hear?” 

“It’s quite alright, dear,” Miss Chauder laughed and lightly hit his shoulder with the photograph. “It’s dreadfully uncomfortable, but that’s just part of a bird’s life!”

_ “Oh! Mr. Potter!” _

Harry inwardly sighed. _ So it began. _He politely returned nods, various waves, and excited commentary, as he made the trek to the lift. By the time he entered the Auror bullpen, Harry’s cheeks were uncomfortably twitching from all of the forced grinning. 

“Oi! Look who decided to mix with the commoners.” 

Finally, a genuine grin stretched out on Harry’s tired face. His posture sagged as he propped himself up on the doorway. He made a show of bowing his head and swinging a hand out in front of him. Ron threw a crumpled ball of scrap parchment at Harry from his desk with a cackle. Faust rolled her eyes. 

Harry batted away the parchment and haughtily asked, “Missed me, have you?”

“It’s been miserable,” Ron seriously bemoaned. He sank further into his seat and splayed out his gangly legs. “Faustie won’t let me do anything fun.”

“If I didn’t like ‘Nessie’, why the fuck would I see _ Faustie _ as an improvement?” 

“See?” Ron dramatically flailed his hand towards Faust. “This is what it’s been like around here.”

Harry strolled into the bullpen. He eyed Ron’s abnormally tidy desk. “I see you’ve been productive, though.”

Ron jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards the office and lowered his voice to mumble, “Robards has been in a piss poor mood.”

“Worse than normal?”

“Yeah,” Ron wildly nodded. “M’ telling you, mate, I would avoid him today if I were you.” 

“That’s just great,” Harry groaned. “I’m here for a meeting with him.” 

Ron looked genuinely forlorn at Harry’s situation. “I’ll remember you as you were.”

Harry laughed and perched himself on the corner of Ron’s desk. 

“I know you can’t really tell me anything, but,” Ron conspiratorially whispered, “how’s it been going?”

“It’s been...” Harry drawled off as he tried to mentally surmise the last handful of days. If Ron knew even the smallest detail of how different Harry’s views were since being with Malfoy...Well, Harry would likely be down one best friend for at least a week. Shoving that to the back of his mind, Harry shrugged. He lamely settled on, “Eventful.”

“Eventful? That’s all you’re giving me to work with?” Ron disappointingly sighed. “Hermione and I have been going a bit mad with guessing where you’ve been.” He suddenly sat upright with a truly worried expression. “Even Luna has gone round the twist. More than normal, mind you. Last night she was telling Gin that she found you in the Forbidden Forest! She said you were wandering around some Gernublims or summat.”

“Gernumblies,” Harry subconsciously corrected. 

“_What?!_”

“That’s not what I was doing! But...I did see her.” Harry defensively held up his hands, “Accidentally! She doesn’t know anything about the case either.” 

Ron’s jaw had dropped halfway through Harry’s explanation. 

“Honestly, I didn’t know she was going to be there. I was just...trying to find space to think.” Harry apologetically smiled. “M’ sorry. That’s all I can really say. I’m not trying to give Robards an excuse to take me off the case.”

“So...you’re gonna stay on?”

Harry raised his shoulders. “If they let me.”

“And you’re, uh, doing alright?”

“Yeah,” Harry grinned at Ron’s faint blush, “I’m alright.”

Ron heavily exhaled and nodded. “Okay.”

Harry looked down at his watch and unappealingly whined at the time. 

“Gotta go?” 

“Unfortunately.” Harry pushed himself off Ron’s desk, clapped him on the shoulder, and grumbled, “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” Ron dutifully responded. “It’ll be fine.” 

The sentiment would have helped Harry a lot more if Ron had sounded like he believed it. With a two finger salute towards Faust who couldn’t be bothered to glance up from her notes, Harry strode towards Robards’ office. He swiftly knocked against the wood with the back of his knuckles.

“Come in, Potter.”

Harry hadn’t missed_ that _ voice one bit. 

Similar to the last time he was in Robards' office, Kingsley was already there. Harry politely nodded to the Minister and took a seat across from the Head Auror.

“Welcome back, Harry,” Kingsley warmly greeted. 

There was a conflicting feeling growing inside of Harry about the Ministry, and it was harder to accept when Kingsley was acting kindly towards him. Harry tried to remind himself that it was the system that was fractured. _ Kingsley is a part of that system, though. _

“Potter,” Robards addressed him in a clipped tone. 

“Right, sorry,” Harry dazedly shook off his thoughts. He grimly grinned at the Minister. “Thank you.”

Kingsley clasped his hands behind his back and stood by Robards' side. “I think it would be best to get right to it. So—”

“I want Malfoy,” Harry blurted out. 

Harry’s cheeks bloomed scarlet at the implication as Kinglsey and Robards gaped at him. He had somehow managed to make himself sound like a pining first year. 

“No, no, that’s not what I meant.” Harry quickly backpedaled. He barely regained what professionalism he had left and tried again. “What I _ meant _ to say is that I trust Malfoy.” When both wizards continued to oggle him, he tacked on for good measure, “And I fully accept responsibility for his actions.” 

It was blatantly clear they hadn’t been expecting this particular outcome. 

Kingsley looked perplexed, but growingly relieved by Harry’s choice. Robards on the other hand appeared to be steadily turning purple. It likely wasn’t going to be the last time Harry saw him with that unfortunate hue. 

“Harry,” Kinglsey cautiously looked between Robards and the young wizard. “If you need time to think things over...” 

“All due respect, Minister, I don’t.” He avoided Robards’ gaze as he stated, “Malfoy is perfect for this case and frankly, it would be a disservice not to use his abilities.” 

From the corner of his eye Harry saw Robards’ mustache furiously twitch. Kingsley physically shook off the remaining hesitance. Suddenly, he looked like he had just won that year’s Nimbus Lottery. 

“Excellent, Harry!” Kingsley happily said. He circled around the desk and placed a heavy hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I knew we’d be able to count on you to go in there and do what’s right.”

Harry pinched the skin beneath one of his bands and stiffly nodded once. “Course you can.” 

The following fifteen minutes were full of Kingsley's jabbering and a flurry of papers that similarly mirrored Harry’s original contract. Each one was to be taken back to Gringotts and signed by Malfoy that evening. Throughout, Robards remained mostly silent, but continued to stare daggers at Harry. He unsubtly banged his knee on the underside of his desk when the Minister told Harry that Malfoy could go to the Q.A. meeting house the following morning. 

However exciting it was that Malfoy had been cleared, Harry could only numbly stare at the pair of silver manacles that now sat on the center of the desk. They were enchanted with anti-apparition charms. Kinglsey had placed them there with nonchalance, told Harry to put them on Malfoy in the morning. 

The idea alone made him feel sick to the marrow. 

Harry couldn’t help but focus on the fact they looked identical to Harry’s. The only difference was Malfoy’s gleamed silver while Harry’s were shimmering gold. 

_ Metal bands around your wrists that restrict your magic...From where I’m sitting, that’s exactly what handcuffs do. _

Malfoy was right, and it was glaringly obvious. 

“Are you even paying attention, Potter?”

Harry’s gaze snapped upwards at Robards’ thinly-veiled disgusted tone. He was paying attention and the feelings he felt towards the Ministry were no longer conflicting. They were solidified, anchored, and entirely consumed by hatred. 

“Yes. I am.”


	6. Six

Silver handcuffs heavily weighed in Harry’s palm. He anxiously looked down at them, then towards Malfoy’s door. The sickening feeling in his stomach hadn’t eased since he first saw them in the Head Auror’s office. If Harry listened close enough, and he _ was _ doing just that, the faint padding of footsteps could be heard from the opposite side of the door. Braving himself with a deep inhale through his nose, Harry knocked. The shuffling sound abruptly stopped. 

“Potter?” 

“Yeah, it’s me.” When Malfoy didn’t readily say anything, Harry uncomfortably continued, “Uh...can I come in?”

A brief pause. 

“Yes.” 

Harry frowned, unable to read the tone of Malfoy’s muffled voice. He unlocked the door and walked inside. Immediately, Harry stumbled back a step as Malfoy was standing only a few feet from the entrance. Harry’s eyes went round at Malfoy’s disheveled appearance.

Malfoy’s hair was no longer in a neat plait. The waves were messily tangled in a way that suggested he had been repeatedly running his fingers through it. Harry’s gaze trailed from Malfoy’s raw-bitten lips to the neck of his jumper. It had become an unusual oval shape as if the material had been stretched out in different directions. His blindfold limply hung beneath the misshapen neckline. Harry uncertainly looked back up and caught a flash of relief coloring Malfoy’s pallid skin. 

“You okay?”

Malfoy drew his shoulders back and crisply responded, “Fine.”

_ That’s a lie. _

“Are you sure?” 

Malfoy cupped the back of his neck with both hands. There was a visible struggle happening within him. Regardless, he still answered with a firm, “Yes.”

_ No you’re not. _

Harry gently shut the door behind him and leaned back against it. He suspected he already knew what Malfoy was twisted up about. Clearly, goading an answer out of Malfoy wasn’t the right approach. Harry spoke without judgement, but there was an unmistakable touch of disappointment when he stated, “You didn’t think I’d come back.” 

Malfoy bowed his head and barely lifted his shoulders in a noncommittal answer. Harry could only attempt to fathom the confusion Malfoy must’ve felt. Years of isolated loneliness that were segmented only by hijacks had been abruptly shattered. Harry hurtled into Malfoy’s life and seemed to have brought Malfoy’s emotions to the surface like a shockwave. 

“Can we sit? I wanna talk about what happened, but,” Harry tightened his hold on the handcuffs, “it might take a bit.”

Malfoy’s hands dropped to his sides. He appeared to be debating if he even wanted to know what Harry had to say. Eventually, he stiltedly nodded his head in reluctant agreement. Harry waited for Malfoy to go first, then followed suit. 

Malfoy strode to the living area and hesitated a moment before gingerly sitting on his chair. Harry’s shoulders sagged, but he dutifully walked to the couch. He pulled out a bundle of parchment from his robes before unceremoniously discarding them on an armrest. Silently, he sat down and placed the silver handcuffs on the cushion next to him. 

Malfoy was sitting with his back impossibly straight. He tightly said, “Tell me.”

Harry nervously swallowed. He almost wished the Minister was there to make the case feel more clinical. There was too much rigidity in Malfoy’s posture for Harry not to feel personally invested in his reaction. Harry’s hands slightly trembled in his lap when he said, “They had a lot to say. Well, Kingsley did. Robards was busy glaring because—”

“Stop rambling,” Malfoy cut him off with a hard voice. “What did the three of you decide?”

Harry stopped beating around the bush. 

“We agreed to let you on the case.” 

Malfoy viciously warned, “You better be serious or so Merlin help me...” 

“I wouldn’t joke about this. You know that,” Harry softly said. Malfoy’s mouth opened, closed, then opened once more. Harry couldn’t help the timid excitement that bled into his voice. “You’ve been cleared to side-along with me. Malfoy, you’re gonna go _ outside _ tomorrow morning.”

Without warning, Malfoy went boneless. His spine obscenely curved as he bowed forwards. Harry leapt from his seat, but halted in place when Malfoy caught himself at the last moment. Malfoy’s elbows roughly landed on his knees. He held his head in his cupped hands. An unstable exhale shook Malfoy’s narrow frame. His nimble fingers slid over his scalp. White-blond hair spilled over his shoulder and blocked his face from view. 

Harry slowly sat back down but remained on the edge of his seat. 

Following a deep breath, Malfoy wiped a hand over his face and raised his head. Harry carefully observed every detail of Malfoy’s expression. The cool exterior he adopted and perfected over the years had disintegrated within one moment. A glorious chasm of disbelief and relief painted his expression. 

Harry ignored the tightness in his chest and allowed his Auror training to kick in. He quietly asked, “Want me to get you water?” 

The corner of Malfoy’s mouth twitched at the suggestion, but he shook his head. 

“D’you want me to go?” Harry guessed. 

The barest hint of a smile was wiped away and Malfoy’s eyebrows furrowed. 

“Just for the rest of the night,” Harry quickly clarified. “Give you a bit of space. To think. Or...something?” 

Malfoy’s purplish eyelids fluttered before they steadily blinked open. His starry eyes unseeingly darted from left to right before settling on a spot by Harry’s legs. Malfoy sharply nipped on his bottom lip. Harry irrationally wanted to give him something to soothe the abused skin. He jostled himself out of the thought when Malfoy minutely shook his head.

“Okay.” Harry stole a glance at the silver cuffs. He rubbed his palms together and proposed, “Let’s do this, then. Sign the contract that states you won’t disclose details of the case and I’ll tell you all we know so far.” He cheekily added, “I’ll even give you a free pass to shut me up whenever you want for the rest of the night. Honestly, you won’t get a better deal than that.”

After a beat, Malfoy slyly asked, “What if I have one more condition?”

“What could be better to you than telling me to fuck off?”

The upward tug at Malfoy’s mouth was back. “I have some ideas.”

Harry grinned at the playful lilt that lifted Malfoy’s voice. He rested his forearms on the tops of his knees and contemplatively hummed. “Depends on what it would be.”

“Go get Bass.”

Harry was thrown off guard by the request. Ineloquently, Harry said, “Huh?”

“I’d like to apologize to him for the other day.”

“Are you kidding me?” Harry pathetically groaned at the absurdly genuine request. “Bass is already in love with you. You’ll only encourage him with an apology. Besides, he wasn’t cross with _ you _ . He had no problem waxing poetry about _ you _.” 

Malfoy’s lips curved into a smirk. “He has good taste.”

“He has something alright,” Harry grumbled. He stood and made it sound like a hardship when he exhaled, “Fine. I’ll get him.”

“Good,” Malfoy smugly said. “While you get him,” He stood to his full height, “I’ll get something stronger than water for us to drink.” There was a touch of pink coloring Malfoy’s neck when he stuffily declared, “We’re celebrating.”

“Brilliant.” Harry goofily grinned at the other wizard. “You’ve got a deal.”

Malfoy turned away from him. Harry took it as his cue to leave. He left the studio and not without difficulty, returned with his hands full of a squirming snake. 

_ “Told you! Told you I would win!” _

_ “Stop wiggling so much,” _ Harry huffed after Bass nearly toppled to the ground for the third time. “ _ I mean it, Bass. Stop or I’ll take your spots away.” _

_ “Take spots away, and I will eat you whole.” _

A surprised laugh fell from Harry’s lips. _ “You couldn’t eat me even if you tried.” _

_ “Lots of small bites,” _ Bass threateningly amended. 

_ “You’re fucking mental.” _

“Do you have any idea how odd you sound?”

Harry brightly laughed at Malfoy’s nearly accusatory tone. “You wouldn’t be the first to try and tell me. Neville once said it’s borderline disturbing. Luna is the only one who doesn’t bat an eye anymore.”

“Sounds like Lovegood.” 

Harry glanced at where Malfoy was sitting criss-cross on the floor with two glasses of smoking Firewhisky in front of him. Harry’s stomach swooped at the same time Bass decided to excitedly dart his head towards Malfoy’s figure. 

_ “There!” _

The sudden movement caused Harry to jerk forwards. His right foot uncoordinatedly tripped over his left one. He angled his body to protect as much of Bass as he could as he fell. It was a fast sequence of tumbling limbs and expletives, before Harry crash landed. 

“Oof!” 

Harry’s eyebrows shot towards his hairline as he looked up from where his head was pillowed on Malfoy’s lap. Complete shock froze Malfoy’s doe-like expression. His hands were held up in the air as if he’d been caught at the scene of a crime. Harry’s entire body flushed in embarrassment. 

“Shit!” Harry yelped and abruptly sat upwards. 

Unfortunately, Malfoy chose that moment to confusedly angle his head downwards. 

Their foreheads conked together with a loud _ thump, _ and they groaned in unison. Harry’s head flung back down from the force of it. All of the air that was left in his chest escaped. He winced and carefully rubbed his aching forehead. 

Bass, on the other hand, was happily humming to himself. He slithered off of Harry’s chest and curled up by Malfoy’s knee, completely unaffected. Harry sincerely disliked him sometimes. 

“Merlin’s sake, Potter.” Malfoy moaned in discomfort. “Do you have _ any _control over your body, whatsoever?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry breathlessly jabbered. He started to sit up, but paused to seriously warn, “Don’t move.”

Malfoy harrumphed but did as he was told and remained still as Harry carefully raised his upper body. He swivelled around and rested on his haunches. Malfoy was glowering at him. 

“Sorry,” Harry murmured. “Bass was falling, so, I just…”

“Decided to accost a blind person,” Malfoy deadpanned. 

A small giggle escaped of its own accord. 

“It’s _ not _ funny.”

However, staring at Malfoy’s ruffled, grumpy expression, Harry quickly found that it _ was _ rather funny. His giggle bubbled to a chuckle and then grew into a loud laugh. 

“Potter, stop it,” Malfoy sternly scolded him as if he was a Hogwarts Professor. 

Harry tried to bite back the next laugh, but it only caused him to make a strange honking noise instead. Both of them reared back at the frankly, abrasive sound. Gradually, the fight visibly left Malfoy, and then something happened that tilted Harry’s world on its axis.

Malfoy smiled. 

During Hogwarts days, Harry had become accustomed to the posturing smirks Malfoy would put on for his posse. He was familiar with the cruel curve of his lips when he mercilessly teased another person. Harry believed that was the closest thing to a smile that Malfoy had. 

Ever since Harry arrived at Gringotts for the case, his opinion slightly changed. He had learned the way Malfoy’s skin would dip by the corners of his lips when he bit back a grin. Harry witnessed soft, apologetic smiles that flickered like a burning star. Harry thought those glimpses were all Malfoy could manage after the hijacks. 

As it would be, Harry couldn’t have been further from the truth. 

When Malfoy smiled, _ truly smiled _, his entire face transformed into something extraordinarily bright. His jaw slightly slackened to display both rows of his straight teeth. The wider his smile grew, the more pronounced the wrinkles by his eyes became. Ironically, when Malfoy smiled, he was the physical depiction of pure, unburdened youth. 

Harry imagined a blond six-year-old boy who begged his mother to go exploring for magical creatures. His shoulders fell as melancholy swept over him. This was how Malfoy was always meant to look, but Lucius had ripped it away from him brutally at a young age.

After a moment, Malfoy lowered his head, but he didn’t bite back the grin like he might’ve the day before. He carefully reached by his knee and stroked two fingers along Bass’ scales. Malfoy’s smile dimmed into something more sated. In a low voice Malfoy asked, “Tell him I’m sorry?” 

“Okay,” Harry said just as quietly. 

_ “Malfoy says he’s sorry for scaring you the other day.” _

_ “Scare me? Could never scare me!” _ Bass proclaimed with an impressive bravado. He quickly squirmed his way into Malfoy’s lap. Bass continued to wiggle from side to side. Harry belatedly realized Bass was mimicking what he’s seen Crookshanks do when curling up in Hermione’s lap. 

“Is he,” Malfoy paused when Bass continued to shift, “alright?”

“He’s fine,” Harry snorted. “I think he’s trying to have a cuddle.”

Harry tried to stifle his laughter at Malfoy’s surprised expression. His hand hovered over his lap as if he had no idea how to reciprocate what Bass was attempting. 

Bass soothingly hissed, _ “Golden Man could never scare Bass.” _

_ “Of course,” _Harry chuckled.

“What’d he say?”

“You could never scare him,” Harry told Malfoy with a grin.

Malfoy lowered his hand and resumed petting over the snake. With a pleased little noise, Bass ceased his squirming. He uncoiled and rested his head on Malfoy’s thigh. Harry fondly watched the pair. 

“Drink?” 

“Please,” Harry emphatically sighed and reached forward to grab a tumbler. 

Malfoy took the other glass in his grasp. He took a sip, then asked, “You mentioned a contract?”

“Right.” Harry reached behind him and plucked the paperwork off the couch cushion. “There's something I want to tell you first, though.”

“That doesn’t sound promising.” 

“I think it’d be better if you heard it from me and not,” Harry ruffled the parchment, “from some contract.” 

Malfoy took a larger pull from his drink. He said nothing, but his anticipative silence was enough to push Harry to continue. 

“Since we’ll be offsite, Kinglsey and Robards didn’t want to chance you…”

“Running off.”

“Apparating.” 

Malfoy’s jaw clenched and he protectively crossed his arms over his chest. He could tell Malfoy had already figured it out. Harry rushed out to say, “_ I _ don’t think you’d do anything. They’ll just have anti-apparition charms on them.”

“Doesn’t make a difference, does it?” 

Harry desperately said, “You’ll still be able to do everything else. I promise.”

“Oh, like being able to see?” Malfoy responded with a deadened expression.

Harry fidgeted with his own bands and miserably murmured, “M’ so sorry.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Malfoy huffed and uncrossed his arms. With a slightly gentler voice, he clarified, “Potter, I’m not angry with _ you _.”

“Okay.”

Malfoy rubbed over his wrists. “Just...get it over with.”

Harry’s eyebrows forlornly pulled together. “I don’t want to do this.”

“I don’t care.” 

“I do.”

Malfoy ignored the weak declaration. “I presume you brought them with you.” 

He looked behind him where the offensive silver pair sat. Harry frowned. “Yeah.”

“Wonderful,” Malfoy bitterly said. He boldly held his wrists out towards Harry. “Do it.”

Harry grabbed the handcuffs and took one last look at Malfoy’s stoic profile. 

“Ready?” 

Malfoy nodded. “Yes.” 

The air around them was mercilessly thick as Harry fastened the first cuff around Malfoy’s left wrist. Malfoy’s hand faintly tremored. Harry glanced up towards his face and wanted to Obliviate himself. Unabashedly, Malfoy was shattered. Before he lost his nerve, Harry sucked in a breath and locked the second handcuff. 

Once both were secure, Harry scooted closer until their knees touched. Harry slowly brought Malfoy’s hands to rest in Harry’s lap. Malfoy’s breathing slightly evened out as his palms flattened on Harry’s thighs. Bass curiously raised his head and looked between the two wizards. 

Harry took his wand out from its holster. Thickly swallowing, he pointed it at the handcuffs, and hesitated. 

“It’s okay,” Malfoy murmured. 

Harry’s gaze snapped upwards and saw Malfoy’s eyes open. The milky irises were unknowingly boring into Harry’s chest. Harry felt soothed by the heady wave of trust that emanated from Malfoy. He took a deep breath and then with a complicated swirl of wandwork, Harry murmured the spell under his breath. The bands glowed like burning embers before returning to silver. 

Harry put his wand down and carefully gathered Malfoy’s wrists in his hands. He stared down at the pale skin that was obstructed by silver. Quietly, Harry whispered, “I’m on your side, you know.”

Malfoy slipped his index finger underneath one of Harry’s golden cuffs. He heavily exhaled and pulled away. “I know.” 

_ “Matching now.” _

_ “Huh?” _ Harry distractedly responded. 

Bass jerked the point of his tail towards Harry and then towards Malfoy’s hands. _ “Matching.” _

Silver and Gold. 

_ “We are,” _ Harry dumbfoundedly agreed. 

“Can we move on to the contract now?” 

“Course.” Harry took a swig of Firewhisky and picked up the contract. “Uh. Do you want me to read it to you or do you wanna do your...reading...spell...thing.”

“My _ reading spell thing _,” Malfoy blankly parroted back.

“You know what I mean.”

“Unfortunately, I do.” 

“Arsehole.”

Malfoy unapologetically shrugged, then expectantly held out his hand. Harry tried not to stare at the handcuff as he passed Malfoy the contract. Malfoy placed it on the floor in front of him and smoothly waved his hand above the parchment. Harry drank in silence as Malfoy listened to the contract being read aloud. More than once, Malfoy’s face screwed up as if he had bitten into a lemon rind, but he didn’t say a word. When the droning voice finished speaking, Malfoy sat still for a moment. 

“Alright?” Harry asked.

Malfoy dully nodded. He murmured, “Thinking.”

“If you want to sign it or not?” 

“I’m thinking if there are loopholes,” Malfoy corrected. 

“Loopholes?”

“To keep me here longer than my sentence.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Oh.” 

“I don’t care if this case takes months or if it's even a day past my sentence. I’m not staying here, Potter.” 

“I wouldn’t want you to,” Harry openly agreed. 

Malfoy gave him a small, closed mouth smile. He waved his hand once more over the contract, “Let me go over it again.”

After three more listen-throughs that involved Malfoy repeatedly parsing over certain sentences, he seemed satisfied enough. He held out his hand and a quill whizzed over. Malfoy moved his wrist in a looping fashion. In bottle-green letters, _ Draco Abraxas Malfoy _appeared in the air. He flicked his hand with tight precision. The suspended ink floated down towards the contract and landed on the signature line. 

“How’d you do that?” Harry marvelled. 

“A lot of practice,” Malfoy dragged out with a self-deprecative chortle. He thumbed over the feather attached to the quill. “Over the last few years...Well. Let’s just say I’ve had time to read up on plenty of incantations for the handicapable.”

Harry got that feeling in his stomach whenever Malfoy mentioned the hijacks. He tried to keep his voice light when he said, “If its any consolation, that was pretty fucking brilliant.” 

“Of _ course _ it was,” Malfoy’s haughtily responded. “Why do you think I did it?”

“Showing off for me, Malfoy?” Harry crowed, his eyes bright. 

Malfoy leveled him with a truly unimpressed curved brow. 

“Maybe just a wee little bit?” Harry needled.

“You’re not charming.”

“I’m a little bit charming.”

“Is your source _ The Daily Prophet? _”

“Sources don’t matter.”

“You’re an absolute imbecile, Potter.”

“_Charming _imbecile.”

Malfoy heartily scoffed, but he was back to smiling which completely negated the action. Harry needlessly hid his matching grin by the rim of his glass. As the smoky Firewhisky ruminated on his tongue, Harry decided he could live with being an imbecile or whatever else Malfoy wanted to call him. 

Malfoy finished off his drink and with a purposefully articulated, “Tell me why you need wandless magic for the case.”

Not entirely unused to Malfoy’s bluntness at that point, Harry easily rolled with the demand. 

“We need to investigate a meeting house, but it has a bunch of complicated wards protecting it. One of which disintegrates wands. There aren’t any other Curse-Breakers who can get close enough to take them down.” 

“Meeting house for who?”

“Some new society. They’re calling themselves, Quod Authirutas.”

Malfoy’s brows were pulled together. “The Authority?” 

Harry instantly perked upright. “You know them?!” 

“No, I understand Latin.” 

“Oh.” Harry sagged. 

Malfoy gestured to himself and dryly said, “Pureblood, remember?” 

“Ah, right. That whole,” Harry aimlessly waved a hand in the air, “thing.” 

“Eloquent as ever.” 

Purposefully ignoring Malfoy’s sarcasm, Harry chirped, “Thank you.” 

“What are they a society for, anyways?” 

“To prevent another war.” Harry sighed. “Their pitch is that they’ll protect us from becoming complacent.” 

“Let me take a wild guess.” Malfoy derisively scoffed. “We’ve become complacent around muggles?”

“Ding ding.”

“Brilliant, a new age of Death Eaters.” Malfoy refilled their glasses with a scowl. “Have people forgotten what _ just _ happened?”

Harry couldn’t help the pride he felt for Malfoy in that moment. 

“I know you’re gonna hate this, but—”

“But, you’re going to tell me anyways.” 

“I’m proud of you.”

Malfoy went still for a moment, before he haughtily sniffed. “You’re right. I did hate that.” 

“Figured it was worth a shot,” Harry good naturedly shrugged. 

“Good to know you’re still as thick as the day I met you.” 

“Good to know you’re still as poncy as the day I met you.”

Malfoy’s nose scrunched and a small indignated noise petered out from behind his teeth. “_Poncy _?!”

“Yes,” Harry said with a laugh. “And on that note,” he stood from the floor, “tomorrow’s gonna be a long day. I should probably go back to my room and get some rest.” 

“Very well,” Malfoy answered, still ruffled from Harry’s previous comment.

“If you’d like, I brought the case details for you to go over in more detail.” Harry looked around the studio for a place to put them. “Want me to leave them on your chair?” 

Malfoy shook his head. “No, Im might as well go over them now.” He gingerly gathered Bass in his hands and stood. “Trade you?”

_ “Come on,” _ Harry quietly said to the drowsy snake. _ “Time for bed.” _

_ “Will bring me back?” _

Judging by Malfoy’s slight wince, Bass had anxiously tightened his coil around Malfoy’s hand.

_ “Yeah, I’ll bring you back tomorrow,” _ Harry reassured and saw Bass barely loosen his hold. _ “You gotta let go of Malfoy, though.” _

With a bit more beckoning, Bass finally agreed. Harry carefully took the snake from Malfoy and hung him around his shoulders. He then slowly pushed the file into Malfoy’s outstretched hand. As he walked to the door, Harry called over his shoulder, “Be ready by nine tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I’ll be over then. Night, Malfoy.”

“Goodnight, Potter.”

****

Refreshed by nine hours of sleep and a scalding shower, Harry had a jittery sense of excitement humming through him. It was the first day Malfoy would experience the outdoors since he was just a teenager, and Harry would get to be there with him. Of course, there was the possibility they were walking into a death trap as well, but Harry was actively not focusing on that aspect of their day. Yet. 

“Come in,” Malfoy’s muffled answer came after Harry knocked. 

“Morning,” Harry happily said as he walked inside. 

Malfoy called from the washroom, “You’re three minutes early.”

“Better than three minutes late?” Harry hopefully called back. 

Harry wasn’t deigned worthy of a response. He aimlessly wandered around the studio, listening to the faucet run in the other room. After exactly three minutes, Malfoy was finished. 

“Ready to go?” 

Harry closed the book in his hand and looked up. “Ye—_ Oh_.”

The book tumbled to the ground with a grand _ thump, _ and Harry’s stomach wasn’t far behind. His jaw was silently working to formulate at least one sentence, but nothing came out. Malfoy crossed his arms and rested his weight against the door frame. “Is there a problem, Potter?” 

_ Was there a problem? _Harry wondered as he dumbly stared at Malfoy. A man who apparently had the ability to look like he belonged in the pages of Witch Weekly when he put effort into it. 

“I,” Harry dragged out and felt his neck redden. He shook his head, “No.” 

Harry truly was an inarticulate imbecile.

Malfoy pushed himself upright and walked towards Harry’s direction. As he got closer, Harry scanned over his frame and found that each detail was slightly more alarming than the next. Malfoy’s hair was gathered in a bun at the top of his head; a few tendrils hung loose to frame his face. His white Oxford was neatly tucked into a pair of charcoal-wool trousers. Harry’s gaze hooked on the narrowness of Malfoy’s waist before it dropped to a pair of polished black loafers. 

“Are you going to pick up the book?”

Harry snapped his attention back to Malfoy’s face. Arguably, the most distressing of the changes. 

Harry felt like something odd was happening inside his gut because where he had become accustomed to either a gauzy blindfold or a starry faraway gaze, Malfoy’s eyes were obstructed by browline sunglasses. They rested in strong contrast along the height of his ivory cheeks. Black-licorice frames accented by the narrow silver arms that hooked behind Malfoy’s ears. 

“You’re wearing sunglasses,” Harry stated, then picked up the book to distract himself from his own stupidity. 

“Wow,” Malfoy monotonously droned. “I had no idea, Auror.”

“But, when—”

“Transfigured them last night.” 

Harry peered closer at the lenses. “Have they been charmed?” 

“Yes.” Malfoy tapped two fingers against the frame of the sunglasses. “They don't entirely block out all light, but I thought it was more nondescript than going outside wearing a blindfold.” 

“Right.” Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “Well. Er, you look good.” His eyes went round as saucers. He frantically gestured towards his own face and the book tumbled from his grasp for a second time. Harry snatched it back up in his hands while quickly rushing out, “Your sunglasses! I meant _ they _ do. Um. Look good, that is. Just...the sunglasses.” 

Malfoy remained completely still, his expression entirely void of emotion. Harry wished there was still a dragon at Gringotts so he could jump inside of its mouth and be dead already. He covered his flaming face with the cover and peeked over the top of it when Malfoy finally spoke. 

“I’m shocked your level of ineloquence isn’t Granger’s boggart.” 

Harry’s anxieties melted when the corner of Malfoy’s mouth twitched upwards. He unceremoniously shoved the book back on its shelf and silently vowed never to touch it again. 

“Now,” Malfoy put his hands on his hips and huffed, “can we leave or would you like to point out that I chose to wear shoes today, too? I know this is a lot for you to digest.”

“Leave. _ Please_.” 

“Good,” Malfoy crisply affirmed. 

“The Minister changed the wards, so we’ll be able to apparate from the hallway,” Harry told him. 

Malfoy silently held out his arm and Harry didn’t need spelled out instructions to understand what was being asked of him. Harry slowly linked his arm with Malfoy’s. Silently, he guided them towards the door. When they were two feet from the exit, Malfoy began to slightly tremble. Harry opened the door and with a large step, they cleared the doorway. 

The door swung shut behind them, and the locking mechanics boomed in the silent hall. Malfoy’s hand was visibly shaking at his side. Harry reached over his chest with his free hand and cupped Malfoy’s bicep. He reassuringly squeezed and murmured, “You’ll be brilliant.”

“Of course I will be,” Malfoy jested, but there was a distinctively nervous shake to his voice.

Harry lightly knocked their shoulders together. “And I’ll be there.” 

Malfoy turned his face towards Harry’s and their breath mixed together. 

“Promise,” Harry added in a whisper for good measure. 

Malfoy breathed deeply, then assuredly placed his free hand on top of Harry’s. It was as if lightning touched down where they were joined. Malfoy’s trust in Harry coursed through his veins like rolling thunder. 

“On three?” Malfoy asked. 

Harry’s eyes roved over Malfoy's expression and found that his jaw was no longer tightly clenched with anxiety, but in determination. His hand slipped out from under Malfoy’s so he could grip his wand. Malfoy held onto Harry’s bicep instead. Harry took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and cleared his head of everything except for their destination. 

“One,” He murmured as he visualized the meeting house.

Malfoy’s grip tightened. “Two.”

Their voices rang together as they chorused “three_ . _ ” A shattering _ crack _ ricocheted off of the limestone walls and echoed throughout the depths of Gringotts. Still, damp air was replaced with the caress of a warm breeze. Harry rolled his neck and blinked his eyes open to see a stretch of sky. Cumulus clouds slowly moseyed across the blue expanse. 

Harry lowered his head and saw that they were in a small field protected by a circle of intertwined trees. The only thing in the clearing besides them was a quaint house twenty-five meters North. A brown-burgundy roof sat on top of the pale-yellow sidings and extended over a small porch. Harry turned towards Malfoy, ready to lead them towards the meeting house, but he paused when he saw Malfoy’s profile. 

Malfoy had his head tilted back. The sun bathed his skin and hair with an almost ethereal glow. His petal pink lips were parted a fraction of an inch. Harry noted the way Malfoy’s grip on Harry’s arm had become loose, but still remained in place as if he had forgotten it was there.

A tender gust of air swirled around them. The tendrils of hair around Malfoy’s face danced in the breeze. There was a peacefulness blanketing his features that was nothing like the stoic emptiness Malfoy exuded to the rest of the world. A brilliant grin slowly spread from one side of his mouth to the other, and then he began to laugh. 

Malfoy’s laughter was musical and had the ability to strip years off of his face. Harry grinned at him, soaking in the jovial sound as if it was the sun itself. Malfoy let go of Harry’s arm and held his hand out in front of him. His wrist turned over as another breeze billowed through the clearing. His fingers danced in the air as if he was memorizing the feel of it. 

_ That’s probably exactly what he’s doing. _

Harry thought of when Malfoy had asked him if he looked any different. He turned to look over his shoulder and saw a patch of particularly lush grass leading to the base of a willow tree. Fully aware that they were meant to immediately begin working on the case, Harry decided that wards and despicable societies could be put on hold for another ten minutes. 

“Follow my lead,” Harry murmured. “I think you’ll like this.”

Malfoy gradually lowered his head and then faced Harry. His cheeks were still flushed from laughter. Malfoy’s eyebrows drew together. “What is it?”

Harry slowly guided him in a half-circle, then walked towards the tree’s foliage. 

“There’s a willow tree about ten meters in front of us,” Harry told him as they walked. 

At the words, Malfoy confidently sped up his pace even though he couldn’t see the landscape. 

“Hold on,” Harry warned and gently tugged Malfoy to a stop before he tripped over a raised root. He breathlessly laughed at Malfoy’s impatient huff. “Okay, if you stretch out your hand, you’ll feel the branches.”

Malfoy slowly reached out with his right hand. When his fingertips brushed against the branches, he broke out in another large smile. Harry’s face couldn’t help but to mirror Malfoy’s fantastical expression. He unhooked their arms, but remained close to the other wizard’s side. Malfoy took a cautious step forwards and ran both of his nimble hands through the emerald foliage. 

They stayed that way for some time. Malfoy continued to trace over leaves with the pads of his fingers and Harry continued to marvel at what he was witnessing. 

“Hear that?” 

Harry abruptly stopped staring at the nape of Malfoy’s neck. He frowned. “What?”

“There’s…” Malfoy drawled off and tilted his head to the side. 

Then, Harry heard it. 

A faint birdsong trailed over from somewhere across the clearing. The sound created a lyrical melody with the rustling willow leaves and whispering wind. Malfoy reached behind him and clumsily knocked his knuckles against Harry’s side before finding his wrist. He hooked their arms together. Harry stepped forward so they were side by side. 

“Aegithalos caudatus.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s the type of bird,” Malfoy quietly explained with a nod towards the clearing. There was a slight mourning quality to his voice that Harry didn’t quite understand. 

“How do you know it's an aeg...aegith...uh. How’d you say it?” 

Malfoy took pity on him. “They’re more commonly known as silver-throated dashers.” 

“Could’ve led with that.”

“Yes, I could have.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Anyways, how do you even know that’s it?”

What remained of Malfoy’s warm expression had drained with Harry’s question. 

Malfoy told him, “You won’t like the answer.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes. I do.”

“Well, I’m sure I’ll be able to handle it.” Harry started to slowly lead them back. With a kinder voice, he added, “You don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to, though.” 

“I’ll tell you,” Malfoy sighed. “Dashers are the type of birds that...” Malfoy took a large inhale through his nose and steadily exhaled from his mouth. With a steadier voice, he said, “I used two to test the vanishing cabinet. One died because I hadn’t mended the cabinet properly. The other...Well. I doubt Borgin kept her as a pet.”

Harry knew any repulsion he might have felt was at least quadrupled by how Malfoy felt towards himself. He wouldn’t tell Malfoy the sacrifice was alright. Neither of them would believe Harry even if he did. What he_ could _ do was continue to be there as Malfoy’s sounding board. Harry said nothing, but placed his hand back on Malfoy’s bicep. Malfoy tightly nodded and followed suit. Silently, they walked towards the house. 

“Stop here,” Harry said when they were a few meters back from where Aurror Merrick passed through the disintegration wards. Harry had repeatedly analyzed the picture to know where the wards began, but there was still a nervousness wracking through him that he was only a few steps from potentially losing his holly wand. 

Entirely focused on the mission once more, Harry seriously told Malfoy, “About fifteen meters ahead is where the wards begin. We don’t know what else might be protecting the house.” 

“Got it,” Malfoy answered.

“I can’t go any closer than this.”

Malfoy nodded. There was a new sense of authority in his voice when he spoke next. “Stay there. Don’t move until I tell you to.” 

“I won’t,” Harry easily acquiesced.

“I’ll need you to tell me when I’m five meters out.” 

“Okay.” 

Malfoy laced his fingers together and stretched them above his head. He tilted his head from side to side before slowly lowering his arms. Harry rooted himself in place, but kept a sure grip on his wand as he watched Malfoy take calculated steps forwards.

“Stop,” Harry clearly announced when Malfoy was closer to the wards. 

Malfoy halted. He rolled his shoulders back and crouched down towards the earth’s surface. With a bowed head, Malfoy kneeled on the ground. The heels of his palms rested on the packed dirt, then he was pushing them forwards. Malfoy curved his wrists downwards. When his fingers pressed against the packed dirt, Harry felt the ground underneath them vibrate. 

Harry jumped backwards. The feeling of a million bees restlessly flying beneath his feet didn’t relent, but steadily grew stronger. It was as if the earth had been awakened. He stared down at the ground and expected it to crack open at any minute. 

A blinding light filled the clearing, and Harry snapped his head back towards Malfoy’s crouched position. Malfoy heavily sank to both knees and was shaking from the force of what he was doing. Harry took a step forwards, caving to the innate need to help him. 

“Don’t move!” Malfoy instantly shouted at him.

Harry startled to a stop. 

Suddenly, the bright light snapped back towards the roof of the house as if it was a rubberband. Harry gaped at the glimmering dome that now surrounded the house. It was as if the space was encased by a translucent opal. Pastels ebbed and flowed in twisting waves. Harry gaped at the complicated web of colors. 

Malfoy slowly rose to his feet. He rolled his neck, then raised his hands and began to make a plucking gesture with his fingers. The colors of the wards tugged then disappeared away as if they were venom being drawn from a wound. Harry wordlessly sat down and marveled at each precise movement. Malfoy would lift his hands up high, pulling fragments of the spells loose, then wave them away. It was a delicate dance, and Malfoy was the maestro. 

The following hour took a physical toll on Malfoy, and Harry couldn’t do anything but watch from afar. 

Malfoy’s arms shook from unbearable exhaustion, but he never stopped working. Beads of sweat caused his Oxford to tightly cling to his spine. At some point, the lower pieces of his hair had slipped free from the elastic. Regardless of the thick layer of exhaustion that had steadily weighed him down, Malfoy gave a final downward swish of his hand and completed disabling the wards. He collapsed to his knees, and Harry didn’t hesitate as he sprinted towards Malfoy. 

Harry dropped down by Malfoy’s side and placed a sure hand between Malfoy’s shoulder blades. The material of his shirt was drenched. Harry was vaguely aware that he should have thought it was disgusting, but he couldn’t care less. He reached inside of his robes and plucked out a vial containing a muted-cobalt liquid. Harry unstoppered it with his teeth and spat out the cork. 

“Here, take this,” He carefully pushed the vial into Malfoy’s hands. “Rejuvenation potion.” 

Between laborious breaths, Malfoy checked, “Did you brew this?”

“No, but—”

Malfoy took the vial and downed it in one go. 

“Hey!” Harry lightly pinched Malfoy. “I wasn’t that bad at potions!”

Malfoy scoffed, “You certainly weren’t good, either.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but said nothing because Malfoy had a point. He stared at the front of the house and was struck by how completely ordinary it was. After years of battling dark wizards, Harry had admittedly grown used to evil people having either unnatractive or intimidating lairs. This house was perfectly normal, even by the Dursleys’ standards. The only thing that was remotely odd was that it seemed to have sprung up in the middle of a small field. 

“Better?” Harry asked when Malfoy’s breathing regained its normal pace.

Malfoy nodded and raised his head. His cheeks were still flushed, but the rest of him seemed to have recovered. Sounding much more like himself, Malfoy said, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Harry stared at the front stoop and took a steadying breath. “What you just did was...I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“You’ve never seen wards being taken down?”

“No, I have, but_ that _was entirely different.” Harry shook his head in slight disbelief. “It was...amazing. There was a large dome! All these colors were moving and you were—Um, sorry.” He uncomfortably itched the side of his neck. “I’m rambling.” 

“You are, but I don’t mind.” 

Harry gave him a small smile and liked to think Malfoy could feel it. 

“Ready to go in?” Harry asked. 

“I think I should go into rooms first and make sure there aren’t any other protections. Besides,” Malfoy humorlessly chuckled, “if one of us gets hurt, it would be better if it was me.” 

Harry immediately frowned. “Don’t say things like that.”

“It’s true,” Malfoy blasely said. 

“It’s really not.”

Malfoy gave him a truly unimpressed huff and stood. Harry clambered to his feet, too. 

“You know I don’t think that, right?”

“Of course I don’t,” Malfoy exasperatedly said. “Your friends at the Ministry, though...”

Harry quickly cut in, “They’re _ not _ my friends.”

“Oh?” Malfoy snorted, “And when did that change?”

“Since I started spending everyday with you.”

Harry hadn’t meant to sound stupidly saccharine, but it was the honest truth. 

Malfoy’s jaw slackened before instantly snapping shut. His forehead wrinkled, and he seemed to be internally at war. He pressed his lips firmly together and loudly exhaled through his nose. Expectantly, Malfoy held out his arm and completely ignored what Harry had said. “Come on, Potter.”

Harry forced himself to let the issue drop and not push Malfoy further than he was willing to go. He hooked their arms together and thought it odd how quickly he had become comfortable touching Malfoy. Not that he had ever given it much thought in the first place, of course. Nevertheless, Harry was surprised he ever could get used to, let alone _ comfortable _ with, being physically close to Malfoy. 

Harry rolled his eyes at his own tendency to overthink things that at the end of the day, meant nothing at all. 

On high alert once more, Harry guided them towards the front of the house. His senses felt as if they were reignited by electricity. Malfoy easily fell into step by his side. 

“There’s a stoop of three stairs coming up.”

Not breaking stride, Malfoy waved his hand in a slicing motion and the steps leading towards the front door glowed yellow. 

“Clear.”

“Brilliant. Now take a step up in...one, two, _ three_. Again. Okay, once more.” 

In perfect tandem they climbed the stairs and stood outside of the cherry wood door. Once Malfoy cleared it to be safe, Harry uttered _ “Alohomora.” _With a flick of his pointer and middle finger, Malfoy sent the door flying open. 

The inside of the house felt oddly staged as if it was ready to be photographed for the home and garden magazine, _Pots, Plants, and Cauldrons! _ Harry led them from the foyer to the living room and described everything he saw as they walked. Malfoy continued to silently cast spells while Harry spoke. Eerily, the main floor was clean of curses. There wasn’t a single sign that a group of wizards had ever met in the building, but Malfoy said he could smell the lingering trace of jasmine by the staircase. 

“I don’t like this at all,” Harry murmured once they circled the first floor. “It’s too...prim.”

“Not all dark wizards look like Voldemort, just as not all dark dwellings look like Azkaban.” 

Harry cocked his head to the side and peered at Malfoy’s profile. “Alright, fair enough.” He stopped them at the foot of a staircase. “C’mon,” Harry lightly knocked their shoulders together, “let’s check upstairs.” 

“How many steps?”

Harry quickly counted, then reported, “Twelve.”

With Harry leading and Malfoy mumbling the number of each step they took, they made it to the top level. There were three doors. Harry suspected two bedrooms and a bath. He told Malfoy as much. The first room they checked was the washroom, and it was as sterile as the rest of the house. The second room was a bedroom that was neatly packed with a twin-sized bed, dresser, and side-table. Harry had lost most of his hope when they walked into the third bedroom. He startled to an abrupt stop.

_ “What the fuck?” _

Horrible flashbacks caused the color to drain from Harry’s skin when he saw smears of red paint on the wall. 

“What is it?” Malfoy quickly asked. He tugged on Harry’s arm when he didn’t answer. “Potter? What’s there?” 

“There’s something written on the wall. I…” Harry took a step forward, and his brows furrowed. “It’s Latin. I think.”

“Read it to me,” Malfoy urged. 

“Okay.” Harry cleared his throat and did his best to enunciate each word._ “Em neque domi nunc nos nec militiae sumus; imus huc, hinc illuc; cum illuc ventum est, ire illinc lubet.” _

Malfoy didn’t say a word but drew himself completely upright as if he was a marionette being summoned. Harry turned away from the offensive wall. He slipped his arm from Malfoy’s so he could properly look at him. Harry frowned at the blatant anxiety covering Malfoy’s expression. “What is it?” 

“I think we should go.”

“What?” Harry confusedly shook his head. He took a few steps back towards the wall. “Tell me what it means.”

“Later. Right now—”

“No, I wanna know now. Clearly you know what it means if it’s making you act all...”

“Later,” Malfoy coldly repeated. 

Harry stubbornly crossed his arms and challenged Malfoy right back. He cockily asserted, “Now.”

Malfoy angrily reached his right hand out towards where Harry had been standing. When he only came into contact with air, a nasty look twisted his features. He snapped his hand into a fist and yanked it back to his chest. Before Harry realized what Malfoy was doing, he was roughly dragged across the room by an invisible force and slammed directly into Malfoy’s chest. 

“What the fuck, Malfoy?!” Harry shouted and pushed Malfoy off of him. He stormed towards the opposite wall and deftly waved off Malfoy’s next attempt to _ Accio _ him. “Stop it! You can’t—”

“Don’t move!”

It was too late. 

A flurry of action happened all once when Harry’s back accidentally bumped into the wall. Harry whirled around to see that the words painted on it were no longer red, but blazing gold. Suddenly, the house violently shook as if it was being pelted by hundreds of cannon balls. Floorboards creaked and moaned before they began to collapse entirely. 

_ “Potter!” _

Harry nearly snapped his neck in two from following the sound of Malfoy’s distraught voice. 

Malfoy was uncoordinatedly twisting in a circle with his hands fanned out. The floorboards at the center of the room buckled just as Malfoy teetered closer towards Harry’s direction. Not bothering to spare a second’s thought, Harry darted across the room like a javelin and shoved Malfoy against the opposite wall. A splintering crackle filled the air as the floorboards crashed through the ceiling of the lower level.

“I got you,” Harry roughly panted out against Malfoy’s neck. 

Malfoy painfully gripped onto Harry’s shoulders, but Harry couldn’t care less about discomfort because it meant that Malfoy was still alive. 

“Window,” Malfoy breathlessly said. “Where’s a window?” 

Immediately catching on, Harry told him, “You’re fucking brilliant.” He wildly looked around, and then his gaze locked on a window halfway down the wall. “We have to stay against the wall, the centerboards have collapsed. Edge towards your left about three meters, okay?”

Malfoy laboriously nodded, “Okay.”

Harry kept Malfoy boxed in against the wall with his body as they steadily began to sidestep towards the window. The house gave another almighty shudder that caused a hairline crack to form on the ceiling. One of Harry’s hands slipped from the trembling wall and grabbed onto Malfoy’s waist. 

“Almost there,” Harry reassured both Malfoy and himself. Harry reached out once they were close enough. “Yes!”

Malfoy grabbed the windowsill and placed a shaking hand on the windowpane. The glass glimmered, then vanished entirely. He let his other hand slip off of Harry’s shoulder. “You first, then help me out.” 

“Are you—”

“_Yes! _”

“Fine,” Harry agreed and clambered through the window. Wind whipped around him, but it wasn’t enough to knock him over. He made sure he had a sure footing on the roof slats that protected the front porch. When he did, he reached for Malfoy. “Swing a leg over and scootch out on your bum. I’ll make sure you don’t fall.”

Malfoy muttered an impressive slew of vulgar words as he did what Harry said. Harry stayed in front of Malfoy and instantly reached out to help when the bottom of one of Malfoy’s feet slightly slipped over the roofing. Malfoy had just sat on the window sill when there was a loud crunching sound of bricks sliding against one another. Harry rapidly looked from side to side to see if there was an easy way down. 

“You said you trust me?” Malfoy raised his voice to be heard over the destruction. 

Harry didn’t even have to think about it. He nodded, “I do.”

“Good.” Malfoy grabbed onto Harry’s shoulder and rushed out, “Help me stand up. This roof is about to collapse, and we’re going to jump.”

_ “What?!” _

“You said you trust me.” Malfoy squeezed Harry’s shoulder and seriously added, “Now prove it.”

Shakily taking a large breath, Harry looked over the side of the roof. He squeezed his eyes shut. They were running out of time. Harry exhaled as evenly as possible. 

“Okay. Just tell me what to do.”

Once Harry had helped Malfoy stand up and regain his footing, Malfoy asked, “How many strides from here until the edge?” 

Harry steadily walked down the slats and back. “Four.” 

“We count the four strides then jump off,” Malfoy told him. He held out his hand for Harry to take. “Don’t let go.”

Harry grabbed Malfoy’s slighter hand in his own and held on tightly. A booming crash echoed from inside the house and Harry could hear glass shattering. Malfoy reassuringly squeezed Harry’s hand, bringing his attention back. 

“Ready?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah.”

Hand in hand they strode towards the edge of the roof. As promised, after the fourth step, they jumped off the building. Harry closed his eyes and held on to Malfoy’s hand. Behind them, the house cratered into the ground. 

Warmth suddenly cocooned Harry’s entire body and he opened his eyes. They were in a vacuum of noiseless shimmering light. Time seemed to slow to a halt as their movements turned to molasses. Harry belatedly realized he couldn’t feel anything at all in his extremities. Malfoy tugged him closer and protectively curved his body around Harry’s as they drifted towards the earth, but Harry couldn’t feel it. The only reason he knew Malfoy was touching him was because he was watching it happen.

When they landed, it was like all of the air that had been suctioned out had whoosed back around them. Feeling returned to Harry’s body in one alarming swoop. His muscles brutally ached as if he had just run a marathon. Malfoy’s arms loosened their hold around Harry’s middle. The gravity of what happened crashed into Harry. He carefully rolled off of Malfoy and gaped at him.

“You…”

“Don’t,” Malfoy weakly warned.

“You saved my life.” 

“_Our _lives.”

“You shielded me from the fall,” Harry gently said. He lowered his voice and added, “Thank you.”

Malfoy worried his bottom lip for a moment. He asked, “you’re not mad?” and then immediately looked as if he regretted asking. 

Harry disbelievingly sputtered, “Why the fuck would I be mad?”

Malfoy kept his mouth shut.

Harry stared at the rubble of the house and thought about what had just happened. They jumped, everything slowed, and Harry felt...nothing. Realization suddenly dawned on him. 

“That was...”

Malfoy bitterly answered, “A highjack.”

“That’s how you felt for an entire year?” Harry incredulously wondered. 

“Yes.” Malfoy plucked his glasses off his face and pressed the heels of his palms against his eye sockets. He shook his head from side to side. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“I’m not angry or upset with you,” Harry clearly told him. 

“You should be,” Malfoy muttered. He sat upright and winced.

“No, I shouldn’t,” Harry defiantly responded. “You only did it because you didn’t want me to get hurt or feel pain.” His shoulders dropped as he scanned over Malfoy’s disheveled appearance. “You’re hurt, though.”

“I’ll be fine,” Malfoy told him and slid his sunglasses back on, but there was tautness in his voice that didn’t belong. 

Rightfully, Harry didn’t take Malfoy’s word for it. He stood and circled around Malfoy. Panic returned as swiftly as it had left. Malfoy’s shirt was torn open and red streaks of blood stained the white fabric.

“You’re bleeding!” Harry gasped and crouched down behind Malfoy. 

Far-too-nonchalantly, Malfoy commented, “Huh, that would explain it.”

Carefully, he pulled back the ripped material of Malfoy’s shirt to get a better look. There was a large gash stretching from the blade of his left shoulder, down towards his ribcage. “You bloody idiot,” Harry shakily said and patted down his robes for a vial of Dittany. “You shouldn’t have caught me.”

“Thought you said you weren’t angry,” Malfoy breathily chuckled, but immediately flinched from pain. 

“Fuck,” Harry throatily rasped when he couldn’t find the healing potion. He gingerly looped his arm through Malfoy’s. “Fuck! We have to go back to Gringotts right now. I have a store of Dittany there.”

“Expecting an accident, Potter?”

“It has been proven that I’m rather accident prone,” Harry shrugged. “Do you feel strong enough to side-along?” 

Malfoy stood upright, and Harry carefully followed suit. He determinedly said, “On three?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. 

They counted to three in unison and apparated back to Gringotts. Upon arrival, Malfoy was heavily leaning his weight against Harry’s side. Harry propped him against the wall, then darted to his rooms to strip off his sweat covered work robes and get a vial of Dittany. 

Barely a minute later he was back and looped Malfoy’s arm over his shoulder to help support him. Harry did his best not to jostle Malfoy too much as they made their way into Malfoy’s studio and towards the washroom. The door shut behind them with a faint click.

“I’ll need to wash the cut first.” 

Harry winced at how loud his voice sounded in the small space.

“I don’t need your help,” Malfoy told him, but the way he was barely remaining upright said otherwise. 

Deciding not to point that out, Harry said, “Okay, but can you let me help you anyways?”

Malfoy pinched his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger. Eventually, he stiffly nodded. He turned away from Harry. Malfoy reached up to unbutton his top, but his body froze from pain and a guttural moan tore from his mouth. 

“I’ll do it,” Harry immediately stepped forwards. He waved his wand and vanished Malfoy’s top. Under Harry’s gaze, Malfoy’s shoulders drew inwards, and he held his arms to his chest as if he was trying to make himself smaller. Harry had never known Malfoy to be modest by any means, but he supposed having a large wound on your back would make anyone feel vulnerable. “D’you have a flannel I can use?” 

“Cabinet above the toilet,” Malfoy quietly said. 

Harry retrieved the flannel, murmured _ Scourgify _to make sure it was clean, then ran it under hot water. Steam from the tap clouded the mirror and created an almost dreamy fog in the air. Harry placed his wand in its holster and stepped back behind Malfoy. He paused with his hand raised above Malfoy’s back and warned, “It’ll sting at first.”

Malfoy bowed his head downwards in silent permission. 

Gently as possible, Harry lowered the wet flannel to Malfoy’s skin and began to clean the dried blood and dirt. In the silence that was only filled by their breaths echoing off the tiled floor, Harry was struck by how intimate it felt to physically care for Malfoy. 

“This okay?” Harry whispered. Goosebumps appeared on Malfoy’s skin where Harry’s exhale had touched.

Malfoy nodded and just as softly answered, “Yeah.”

As Harry continued to methodically work, tension left Malfoy’s frame. It started at the base of his neck and steadily extended down towards the curve of his spine. Malfoy gingerly rolled his shoulders back and lolled his head from side to side. Harry followed the movement and wiped the flannel over the top of Malfoy’s shoulder. In response, Malfoy’s hands limply dropped to the side. By the time Harry had finished his ministrations, Malfoy was no longer curled in on himself, but stood with an open posture.

Harry put the flannel on the sink and picked up the potion. He unstoppered the dropper, then carefully released beads of liquid over the large cut. The wound miraculously knitted itself together as he went. When he finished, Harry set down the vial and observed, “I don’t think it’ll scar.” 

“I’m hardly worried about scars at this point.”

“What’d you mean?”

Malfoy turned around and Harry felt as if he had been punched square in the chest. 

_ “Oh.” _

Stretches of Malfoy’s pale skin were interrupted by nine scars. The dark pink slashes were emblazoned across his chest and abdomen. Neglected memories of blood splattering from Malfoy’s frame shoved themselves forward from the recesses of Harry’s mind. 

“I thought Snape had fixed—” Harry covered his mouth with his hand as bile threatened to rise in his throat. He barely made out, “_I didn’t know _.” 

“You sliced me open, Potter.” Malfoy dully gestured towards his front. “What exactly did you expect to happen?” 

“I—”

“Stop.” Malfoy shook his head and sighed. “Look, I’m not showing you because I want you to feel guilty. I’m showing you because I’ve lived with them for the last six years, and at this point, I don’t care.” 

Harry disbelievingly repeated, “You don’t care?!” 

“Given everything that I have been through...” Malfoy pointedly extended his arm out and Harry eyed the expanse of black branding that marred his skin. “No, I don’t care about what you accidentally did one time when you were just a stupid kid.” 

Harry unsteadily blew out the air in his lungs as he processed Malfoy’s words. He tiredly leaned back against the nearest wall. 

“Will you tell me about your arm now?”

“There’s not much to tell,” Malfoy told him with a shrug. “I asked Gannon to do it, and you can imagine he was rather thrilled by the idea. Took his sweet time with it.” 

Harry’s eyebrows shot towards his hairline. “Hang on, you_ asked _Gannon to do it?”

“Yes.”

“Why the fuck would you do that?!”

Malfoy hardened his voice, “Judge as you may, but anything was better than staring at the Dark Mark everyday for the rest of my life.”

“Well. Yeah, but...” Harry fumbled for words. He stared at the brand that covered most of Malfoy’s forearm. “How could you even bear it?”

“You’ve experienced what it’s like not to feel anything. It was easy.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Your third year here.”

Malfoy nodded and calmly said, “The first day of year three to be precise.” 

“Merlin,” Harry weightedly said. 

“Right. Well,” Malfoy primply said, “if you've quite finished ogling me, I vote that we take a short break. I need to eat, and you need to bathe. Honestly, Potter, you smell ghastly. We can regroup in an hour to discuss whatever _ the fuck _ just happened at that house.” 

Harry snorted out a surprised laugh at Malfoy’s pompous tone and unusual peppering of profanity. He pushed himself off the side of the wall, grabbed the wet flannel, and tossed it at Malfoy’s face. 

He was only human after all. 

At Malfoy’s indignant sqwuak, Harry deftly darted out of the washroom and shouted over his shoulder, “Deal, but do try to be on time for once, Malfoy!”


	7. Seven

Malfoy, Harry, and Bass formed a small circle on Malfoy’s rug. Or rather, Malfoy and Bass faced each other while Harry was awkwardly positioned to the side, receiving very little attention from either the wizard or the python. 

When Harry had arrived at Malfoy’s _ precisely _ one hour after he had left, Malfoy’s attention zeroed in on Bass. Without asking, Malfoy reached out and swiftly took the snake from Harry’s grasp. After faffing about like a mother hen, Malfoy propped Bass on a makeshift throne of blankets. _ “I’m being a good host, Potter, you should try it some time.” _

Unfortunately for Harry’s sanity, Bass was just as devoted to Malfoy as Malfoy was to him. Potentially even more so because Bass didn’t filter his emotions the same way Malfoy tended to. Since being placed on his self-important throne, Bass hadn’t stopped happily stretching out his spots and hissing at Harry to tell Malfoy how wonderful he was. 

Harry refused to do anything of the sort. 

“You just had to build him a temple, didn’t you?” Harry huffed after Bass had sighed _ “warmest blanket ever felt” _ for the third time.

“With the amount you complain about his happiness, I’m starting to wonder if you mistreat the poor snake.” 

“_Trust me_,” Harry groaned as he thought about all of the times Bass had managed to swindle him for treats when he was still just a baby. “He’s the most spoiled snake alive and he knows it.”

Malfoy made a pleased sound and rested a hand along Bass’ scales. 

_ “He is the stars, the moon…” _

“Alright,” Harry loudly said over Bass’ crooning, “time for you tell me what was written on the wall and why you freaked out so badly.”

“I did not _ freak out._” He puffed out his chest, “Malfoys do nothing of the sort _ . _” 

“You certainly did a marvelous interpretation.”

Malfoy’s mouth twisted with such displeasure that it nearly put Professor McGonagall to shame. 

“C’mon,” Harry urged, “what was it?”

Malfoy sobered and rested his elbows on his knees. He slowly interlocked his fingers, took a deep breath, and said, “It was part of an old poem, ‘Iphigenia.’”

“What’s it about?”

“The Trojan War.” 

“The Trojan war?” Harry tilted his head to the side. “Huh, I’m surprised.”

“What about that is remotely surprising?”

“I would have thought that’d be a bit,” Harry shrugged, “_too muggle _ for your upbringing.” 

“Too Muggle?” Malfoy’s nose scrunched. “What on earth are you going on about?” 

“Uh…” Harry sounded much more uncertain when he said, “Greek Mythology?” 

“Mythology?” Malfoy spat out an unimpressed chuckle. “The Trojan War was very real, I assure you.” 

_ “What?!” _

“It was a wizarding war. Obviously.”

“What was fucking obvious about that?” Harry reared back. “Muggles think it's just something made up.”

“Of course they think it’s made up. Muggles saw a hormonal animagus and decided he must be some strange eagle god that throws bolts of lightning everywhere.”

“Are you telling me Zeus was a real person?” Harry paused to emphasize, “_Zeus_?” 

“Honestly, Potter,” Malfoy pinched the bridge of his nose, “did you _ ever _ pay attention in History of Magic?”

“Apparently not well enough,” Harry snorted out a laugh. 

“Hang on,” Malfoy dropped his hand and threateningly pointed a finger at Harry’s chest. “We had an assignment on the Trojan War! I spent hours tutoring Greg. The poor oaf could barely remember how to spell ‘Mycenae’ on a good day.”

“To be fair,” Harry defensively held his hands up, “depending on the time of year, I was likely in the Hospital Wing. Hermione might’ve written it for me.” 

“Yes,” Malfoy droned, “how very fair for the rest of us.” 

“Oh, shove off,” Harry rolled his eyes. “Tell me about the poem. Did we learn it in school?”

Malfoy distastefully pursed his lips. “No.”

When Malfoy didn’t offer anything else, Harry pressed, “So, where’d you learn about it?”

“It’s popular with purebloods.” Malfoy flitted his fingers in the air, “Quintus Ennius, the author, was connected to one of the oldest family lines.”

“That doesn’t explain why you were so…” Harry drawled off, searching for an appropriate description that wouldn’t get his head bitten off.

“Merlin, you never leave anything alone, do you?” Malfoy irately speculated. “Fine.” He quickly stated, “The last time I heard that poem was after the Quidditch World Cup. Father said it before...Well, you were there.” 

Harry’s jaw went slack. “Shit.”

Malfoy humorlessly chuckled, “Exactly.”

“What does it mean?”

Malfoy slowly drew his legs to his chest. He rested his chin on the knobs of his knees. Harry leaned closer to Malfoy’s side and reached out to place a comforting hand on Malfoy’s shoulder. A warning bell loudly rang out from the back of his mind. _ It wasn’t normal to be quite so tactile, was it? _Harry was barely affectionate with his closest friends, afterall. He frowned and dropped his hand as if it were something offensive. When Malfoy began to quote the poem with a faraway voice, Harry was swiftly reminded that the only reason he was there in the first place was for a job. 

“_We are neither at home nor on the battlefield. We go here and there, and wherever there is a movement,” _ Malfoy quieted his voice, _ “we are there too._”

Harry allowed a moment for the poem to ruminate on his tongue before he pensively echoed, “neither at home nor in the battlefield.” It was surreal to say aloud. Harry leaned away from Malfoy and weightily rested back on his haunches. He didn’t understand why there was a sudden heaviness in his chest. _ Wherever there is a movement, we are there too. _ Perhaps the heaviness was due to the disturbing relatability of the statement.

“What’re you thinking?” 

Harry noncommittally shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Allow me to rephrase, what’re you _ feeling_?” 

There was a distinct sense of knowingness in Malfoy’s voice. Admittedly, Harry was steadily becoming thankful that Malfoy could readily read his mood swings. He was self-aware enough to know that without the prompt, most of his thoughts would never see the light of day. With a dose of self-deprecation, Harry responded, “You could probably tell me better than I could tell you.” 

“That’s the thing,” Malfoy’s expression screwed up in concentration and confusion, “I can’t. They’re—_You’re _ wavering.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Harry shook his head and buried his hands in his hair. 

“You don’t want to tell me,” Malfoy corrected. 

“Fine.” Harry dropped his hands in his lap. “I’m confused. Alright?” 

“That’s a start.” 

“I don’t…” Harry steadied himself with a breath and then rushed out, “I don’t like feeling that I can relate to some ancient, pureblood poem. _ That’s _ not me.” As if Malfoy needed further clarification, Harry tacked on, “At all.” 

“I don’t believe anyone would say otherwise,” Malfoy easily responded. “However, you might want to consider that it isn’t as black and white as that.” 

Harry fidgeted with his fingers in his lap, watched Malfoy calmly pet Bass, and finally rolled his eyes in resignation. He took Malfoy’s bait. “Alright, I give. What is it?”

“You need to accept that not everything having to do with pureblood tradition is insidious.”

Harry sarcastically drawled, “Sure.” 

“It’s true.”

“Of course you’d think so.” Harry tossed his hand in the air and jeered, “So stupid of me to think otherwise!”

“Are you purposefully acting like a petulant child?” 

“Er.” 

Malfoy’s expression hardened. “Because if you are, I’ll tell you right now that petulance is not an attractive color on you.”

Harry’s cheeks colored with embarrassment from being called out on his antics. In a small voice that was entirely unlike himself, Harry peeped, “Sorry.”

“Right.” Malfoy lifted an eyebrow. “Will you listen to what I have to say?” 

Like a schoolboy, Harry contritely mumbled, “I’ll listen.”

“Good.” Malfoy’s cloudy countenance lightened significantly. “There are a lot of pureblood traditions and portions of our history that are corrupt. I know it, you know it. Even so,” Malfoy paused for emphasis, “there are also good portions of our traditions and history. One doesn’t entirely negate the other.” Malfoy seriously said, “The poem isn’t dark because it was written by a pureblood.” 

Harry silently digested the sentiment. 

“Do you understand what I’m telling you?” Malfoy carefully clarified, “You relating to that poem doesn’t make you any less of a good person. Honestly, the more I think about it, it makes perfect sense why you would relate to it.” 

Harry wearily responded, “It does?” 

“Listen again.” Malfoy repeated the lines of the poem for a second time. “_We are neither at home nor on the battlefield. We go here and there, and wherever there is a movement, we are there too.” _Malfoy angled his body away from Bass and towards Harry. He stretched a hand out and knocked his knuckles against Harry’s shin before looping his fingers around it. Malfoy lightly squeezed. “Think about it. The war ended five years ago and you still haven’t taken a moment to be a normal person. _Your life _is somewhere between home and the battlefield.”

Time felt oddly suspended as their surroundings blurred by soft sepia tones. Harry became encompassed by a hazy sort of nostalgia for a different life. He hadn’t fantasized of one since he was just a ten-year-old boy. However, within the limestone caves of Gringotts, Harry allowed himself to dream once more. 

Harry dreamed of a life that wasn’t dictated by the whims of violence, but by the whims of exploration. A schedule ruled by laughter that rolled in the gusts of wind and tumbled over peaks of mountains. He thought of unadulterated happiness. Harry even allowed himself to contemplate the possibility of finding someone to share it all with. Possibly another person who would make sure a quiet life didn’t become boring, but peaceful. A life filled with lyrical musings that continued to make Harry want more for himself. Someone who loved Harry fiercely and in return, Harry could give them his world. 

Embarrassingly, Harry felt his eyes sting as the craving lodged itself inside his chest. 

“You’ll be alright.”

The gentle reassurance brought Harry’s attention back to reality. 

Malfoy’s thumb slightly twitched against Harry’s shin. Harry’s gaze flickered from Malfoy’s hand to his face. Perhaps reassuring touches could be Malfoy and Harry’s normal if they were meant to keep the other grounded. With that in mind, Harry steadily placed his hand over Malfoy’s. Somewhere in their stretch of careful silence, Harry hoped Malfoy understood that what Harry was trying to convey was, _ thank you _. 

“It should feel odd, shouldn’t it?”

“What should?”

With an unrivaled bluntness, Malfoy said, “Touching without wanting to hurt each other.” 

Harry jerked his gaze away from where their skin touched as if he had been physically forced to. There was a contemplative curve to Malfoy’s browline. He pulled his hand away before Malfoy could do so himself. Harry slowly admitted, “I suppose.”

Without fuss or further word, Malfoy released his hold on Harry and placed his hands in his own lap. 

Harry wasn’t sure he wanted to ask, but the words found themselves out in the open regardless. “Does it bother you?”

Malfoy lifted an eyebrow in response. 

“That it’s different,” Harry’s face heated, “between...uh, us.”

Malfoy was unsettlingly quiet before he deadpanned, “Are you asking me if I'm bothered that I don’t want to hurt you anymore?” 

“When you put it like that it sounds stupid.”

“Your words, not mine.” 

“Do me a favor and forget I asked.”

“If you insist.”

“I really do,” Harry grumbled under his breath.

“So,” Malfoy leisurely leaned back to rest on his elbows. His left leg stretched out as the right bent at the knee. “What do we do about it?”

“Uh...” Harry felt his throat dry up as he stared at the way Malfoy’s posture had opened. He listlessly jabbered, “What do we do about...about the...uh, legs?_ No._ Leg touching?” Harry shook his head in frustration and gritted out, “_Touching. _No legs. Wait, I mean...” He smacked himself in the head to make himself shut up. “Oh, for fucks sake.”

“_Leg touching _?” Malfoy incredulously parroted back, his voice an octave higher than usual. He disbelievingly shook his head, “What in Merlin’s name is wrong with you?” 

“I—It’s been a long day,” Harry groaned and covered his face in embarrassment. His voice came out muffled from between his fingers when he prattled off, “Near death experience, house collapsing, pureblood poetry, me being a baboon...trauma in general.” 

Malfoy curiously echoed, “A baboon?”

“Yeah,” Harry waved a hand in the air, “add it to the growing list of insults.”

There was a choked off noise across from Harry. It wasn’t far off from the noise a bagpipe made when air was quickly pushed out. Curiosity getting the better of him, Harry peeked over his hands and towards Malfoy.

To Harry’s great surprise, Malfoy’s shoulders were shaking from uncontrollable spouts of laughter. He gave up trying to bite back the brash noise and the air was suddenly filled with unabashed cackles. Malfoy’s words barely made it out between laughs. “You—absolute—_ idiot_.” 

Not for the first time that day did Malfoy take Harry by surprise. Sure, Malfoy was laughing _ at _Harry, but it was still the best case scenario as far as Harry was concerned. 

_ “Most beautiful like that,” _ Bass positively swooned. 

_ “Beautiful?” _ Harry disbelievingly laughed. _ “Bit of a stretch there.” _

_ “No stretch at all. You're a waste of eyes.” _

_ “I’m a what?!” _Harry practically yelped. 

_“Waste!_ _Cannot see beauty in front of you.” _Bass repeatedly jabbed Harry with the point of his tail as he hissed, “_Waste. Waste. Waste.”_

Harry batted Bass’ tail away and stubbornly stared anywhere except for Malfoy. He wasn’t going to give the python the benefit. Rather, Harry craned his neck and started to intently count the spines on the bookshelf as his thoughts spiraled. 

Malfoy wasn’t ugly. Someone (other than Harry) might have gone as far as to admit that Malfoy had potential to even be called handsome on a good day. A good day where he wore sunglasses and was dressed in...Harry shook his head to clear the train of thought. It didn’t matter what Malfoy looked like. At all. Besides (not that it mattered), Malfoy was many things, but beautiful? Harry was positively, absolutely, undoubtedly _ certain _ that Malfoy wasn’t beautiful. Flowers were beautiful. Broomsticks were beautiful. Women were...Harry mentally stalled as he counted the same book twice. He grumpily huffed and started to count again. 

“What did Bass have to say?”

Harry paused his angry counting. Apparently he missed the moment Malfoy had finally calmed down from his laughing fit. Without meaning to, Harry rubbernecked back towards Malfoy, then cursed himself for it when Bass nudged him. Harry chose to ignore the snake as well as the laugh lines that hadn’t completely faded from Malfoy’s expression.

“Oh, the usual.” Harry monotonously droned, “He thinks you’re beautiful.”

“Beautiful?” There was playful mirth in Malfoy’s voice as he continued to coax, “Is that so?”

“Relax, I’m just the messenger.” Harry scoffed. “Bass said I’m a complete waste of eyes because I didn’t agree.” After a beat, he awkwardly added, “So...don’t worry. You’re still his favorite.”

The warmth in Malfoy’s expression had dimmed as Harry rambled on. His physical reaction made Harry belatedly realize that he might have managed to sound like a complete tosspot. Harry frowned and started to explain, “I didn’t mean—”

“Of course I’m still his favorite,” Malfoy spoke right over Harry, promptly drowning out his voice. “Anyways,” Malfoy crisply articulated, “what I was asking earlier before you decided to debauche the English language, was, what’s the next step for the case?” 

Harry’s eyes widened, thrown off by the unpredictable current of their conversation. “The case?”

“The reason you’re here, Potter.” 

“Oh. Right.”

“Right,” Malfoy monotonously echoed.

“I’ll have to head into the Ministry tomorrow morning to debrief Robards.” Harry scrubbed a hand over his face. He tiredly said, “The pureblood connection will help, but all convicted Death Eaters are either in Azkaban, dead, or…” 

“Me,” Malfoy supplied without emotion.

“Yeah.” Harry winced. He was quick to add, “Not that I think you’re a suspect.”

“Obviously.” 

“Uh,” Harry stiltedly returned to his point, “anyways, Unspeakables will comb over whatever is left of the house. They’ll file a report to Robards, then…” Harry gradually tilted his head from side to side. “Well, I’ve never been involved in a Class Four case before. I don’t know how willing Robards will be to make me more involved.”

“But,” Malfoy’s mouth tipped downwards, “you’re an Auror.”

“_Field _ Auror.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That I mainly do rescues.”

Malfoy dubiously repeated, “Rescues?” 

“Yeah, they send me in for rescue missions. Kingsley thinks it makes victims feel safer when, um...when I show up,” Harry uncomfortably explained. “It’s not exactly a high clearance...not that it matters, of course.” He frowned. “Well, it does, actually. Investigative Aurors, like Merrick, work their arse off and that’s why they’re Class Three. They’re brilliant, _ really _, but...detective work was never my strong suit.”

“Hold on a minute,” Malfoy raised a silencing hand to stop Harry from rambling even more. He disappointedly shook his head as if Harry had personally offended him. “You’re telling me there are different branches of Aurors?”

“Yeah.” Harry rubbed a hand over his shoulder-blade and awkwardly shrugged. “It’s not exactly advertised, I guess.” 

“And all you do is rescue people?” 

“_All I do _?” Harry dubiously repeated. With a tetchy tone, he snapped, “It’s a bit more complex than that, thanks.” 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Malfoy easily waved off Harry’s anger. 

Harry blew out a raspberry. He sarcastically droned, “Great.”

Malfoy opened his mouth to say something and then snapped it shut. He was clearly biting something back which never meant anything good for Harry.

“Just spit it out.”

Malfoy rapidly responded, “Spit what out?”

“Whatever you're dying to say.” Harry heavily sighed. “It’s written all over your face.”

“I just want to be perfectly clear.” 

Harry deadpanned, “What else is new?”

“So,” Malfoy pinched his nose and paused before he stated, “you don’t investigate crime scenes.”

“No.”

With a lead ladened voice, Malfoy grated, “Right.”

Harry reared back and his brows were knitted. “What about all of this has gotten your wand in a knot?” 

“You really don’t see it?” Malfoy marvelled in a way that was quickly getting Harry riled up. 

“See what?”

Malfoy’s mouth set in a hard line.

Harry repeated himself a bit louder, “See what, Malfoy?”

“How can you be so thick-headed all of the time?” 

“Whoa!” Harry spluttered, “If you’re gonna get pissed off at me, I’ll need a bit of reasoning.”

“I’m not angry,” Malfoy sternly told him. 

“Could have fooled me.” 

“Apologies, but you’ll have to forgive me for being confused as to why _ you _are here.”

Harry puzzled, “Do you not want me to be?”

“Obviously I do, but that’s not the point!” Malfoy brashly exploded. 

Harry’s jaw went slack at the outburst. 

“The point,” Malfoy paused, “is it’s odd that _ you _ are here instead of an _ Investigative _ Auror.”

“I mean…” Harry floundered and roughly shook his head when he came up with nothing. “Look,” at Malfoy’s unimpressed noise, Harry amended, “_Listen_, the only reason Kingsley and Robards picked me was because of my history with you. They thought I’d give you a fair chance.”

“That’s not the reason at all, and I refuse to believe you’re too daft to understand that.”

“What’re you going on about?” Harry incredulously barked. “That _ is _ the reason!”

“Why would they care about giving me a fair chance?” Malfoy viciously argued. “_ Look _at what they’ve done to me. They don’t care. Potter, I thought you understood...” Malfoy straightened his spine and visibly attempted to reign himself back in. Harry numbly counted the purposeful breaths Malfoy took. 

When he regained some semblance of himself, Malfoy carried on. “Kingsley and Robards knew you would keep this,” Malfoy gestured towards himself, “all hushed up. Why else wasn’t an Investigative Auror with us today? Why were we alone when _ this _ is clearly out of your realm? I’ll tell you why. It’s because they can depend on you to cart me from place to place while keeping their secret. _ You _ who hate the press and would never sell a story. _ You _ who put on a pair of handcuffs without question. _ You _ who jump into things head first because you think it’ll help others.” Malfoy sadly concluded, “Merlin, don’t mistake your level of loyalty to be anyone else's.”

_ Don’t mistake your level of loyalty to be anyone else's. _

An unforgiving seed of acrimony rooted itself inside Harry’s ribcage. It coursed through his veins until he could feel it desperately clawing underneath the beds of his fingernails. A glint of gold caught his eye. The muscle in his jaw painfully spasmed, but it was incomparable to the roiling fury that consumed him. With a ferocious flourish of his wand, Harry bitterly spat, “_Vincula Fractionis."_

Harry held out his wrists and watched the bands flicker before their golden glimmer extinguished. They faded to a copper hue before disappearing as if they were merely a phantom made of smoke. 

All at once, every ounce of magic in Harry’s body rushed to his fingers. His palms slammed flat onto the ground from the unprecedented force. The overhead light shattered and glass rained over them like a shower of sparkling diamonds. Suddenly, excruciating pain harpooned itself behind Harry’s eyes and pulled a distraught sob from his throat. 

Magic drained his energy until Harry’s vision was nothing more than a blurred veil. He blinked, but he couldn’t make out anything other than shapes that might’ve been Bass and Malfoy. Harry attempted to reach his hand out, but doing so caused the pain in his head to intensify. Every pulsation of his heart was a torturous thrum. He collapsed onto his side and counted backwards from five. Before he made it to three, Harry had slid in unconsciousness. 

****

Exhaustion ebbed long enough for Harry to push away the nausea that roiled inside his stomach. With his remaining strength, he forced himself to peek an eye open. Unsurprisingly, he was still in Malfoy’s studio. _ Surprisingly_, at some point his glasses were removed and he had been lifted from the floor to lay comfortably on Malfoy’s bed. Harry’s hazy gaze was drawn towards a ball of _ Lumos _ which listlessly hovered above the foot of the mattress. 

Breathing evening out, Harry sleepily looked away from the orb and watched the slightly blurred figure by his side. It was Malfoy. Of course it was. Harry silently watched Malfoy shuffle towards the end of the bed and pull a quilt up towards Harry’s chest. Malfoy waved a hand over the patchwork material in a sweeping manner. A tingling sensation spread throughout the quilt’s threads until Harry was swathed in warmth. 

Malfoy hunched over and when he stood back upright, Harry couldn’t readily tell what he had in his arms. However, when Malfoy placed it on the bed and a familiar weight slid against his waist, Harry immediately understood.

“Look after him,” Malfoy murmured no louder than a whisper. 

Bass nestled closer to Harry’s side and blissfully hissed, _ “So good to us.” _

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Malfoy stepped away from the bed and Harry had an irrational desire to ask him to stay. Rather, he pushed the delusional idea to the wayside and remained quiet. Malfoy left Harry’s focus as he walked further away. There was a faint squeak of couch springs. The light at the end of Harry’s bed dimmed until it dreamily drenched the room in a color alike the blushing curves of a ripened peach. Closing his eyes, Harry allowed himself to be lulled back into serene darkness. 

****

The following morning, Harry experienced one of his most peculiar awakenings to date. Malfoy was muttering, “reckless idiot,” as he gently pushed a renegade curl away from Harry’s face. By the time Harry’s brain caught up to what was happening, Malfoy had already placed a warm compress over Harry’s forehead with a grumbled, “abominable Gryffindor.”

Memories of the prior evening whizzed to the front of Harry’s mind. Paired with a sigh, he uselessly croaked out, “Is there any chance you’re talking about someone else?”

Malfoy stilled from his place by Harry’s side and then with a grand huff, he sat down on the edge of the mattress. He irritably quipped, “Good. You’re awake.”

“Try not to sound too excited,” Harry weakly teased. He stole a deep breath before speaking again. “Uh, Malfoy? Thanks. For, um,” his skin steadily heated, “letting me crash here for the night.”

Malfoy placed his hands on his lap and turned away from Harry with a stiff, “You’re welcome.”

Harry hopefully asked, “Is there any use in me asking you to skip the telling off portion of this conversation?” 

Malfoy crisply shot back, “Absolutely not.”

“Figured as much.” Harry removed the compress and pushed himself up to rest on his elbows. “Just how long have you been awake waiting to tell me off?” He rolled fingers in the air and with faux-seriousness added, “I need to mentally prepare.” 

Malfoy marginally turned back towards Harry. He paused, then admitted, “Two hours.”

“_Two hours? _Well, fuck me, this will be a right joy.” Harry accepted his fate with a groan. “Alright, lets get on with it, then. I’m listening.”

“Do you have any idea how reckless you were?” Malfoy rushed out all in one breath as if a dam had been released. He barreled on, “You hurt—”

“I hurt you?” Harry immediately moved to sit all the way upright. 

“I’m not worried about me, you blithering idiot!” Malfoy snapped. He reached out a hand and easily shoved Harry back down flat against the bed. “I’m talking about _ you_. You hurt _ yourself_.”

Harry’s head flopped back down on a pillow. He groaned at the instant dash of pain that bloomed in response.

“Stop moving, you’ll only make it worse,” Malfoy sternly instructed. He held out his hand and barely a second later, a vial whizzed out from the bathroom. Without warning, Malfoy slipped a hand behind Harry’s head. His cool skin caused Harry to shiver. If Malfoy noticed, Harry would never know. Malfoy carefully lifted Harry’s head to an angle and supported him with his sure hand. Malfoy unstoppered the potion, brought it towards Harry, and ordered, “Drink up.”

Harry briefly contemplated the oddity of the situation before deciding to just roll with it. Accepting his new normal that was Draco Malfoy, Harry said _ alright_, and parted his lips without further question. 

“You absolute dolt,” Malfoy admonished in surprise. His thumb applied a light pressure against Harry’s neck as if to restrain himself from outright smacking Harry. He disapprovingly pointed out, “You don’t even know what it is. What if it’s poison? You would just _ let _me poison you?”

Laughter colored Harry’s voice as he said, “You wouldn’t have told me it was poison _ if it actually was poison_.” Harry shook his head and diplomatically added, “I’m going on the general assumption that you’re not trying to kill me.”

“That,” the corner of Malfoy’s mouth flickered, “would be a fair assumption.” 

“Exactly.”

Harry leaned forwards until the glass touched his bottom lip. Malfoy incrementally tipped the vial until the swirling potion spilled into Harry’s mouth. After he swallowed it down, it felt as if an egg had been cracked on top of his head. A tingling sensation trickled from the crown of Harry’s hair, down his neck, and steadily seeped through the rest of his body. All traces of his headache disappeared. Malfoy’s expression steadily sobered as he smoothly pulled his hand away from Harry’s neck. 

“How do you feel?”

“Better, thanks. That worked like a marvel,” Harry brightly commented. “Tasted sort of like Pepperup, but,” his forehead slightly wrinkled, “felt more calming than a general restorative? What was it?” 

“A variant.” 

Harry stared and waited for more of an explanation. Rather than give Harry one, Malfoy listlessly rolled the empty vial between his fingers. There was a near-tangible intensity rolling off of the other wizard that Harry hadn’t exactly anticipated. 

“A variant of…”

“Pepperup.”

“Pepperup and...” Harry lethargically drawled.

“Draught of Peace.”

“You mixed their ingredients?”

“Partially.”

Harry curiously raised his brow at the purposefully short responses. “When did you learn that?” 

Malfoy paused his fidgeting. “A few years ago.”

“Did you come up with it yourself?” Harry peered closely at Malfoy’s profile and noticed the way Malfoy’s jaw just barely twitched. Harry let out an impressed whistle from between his teeth. “You did, didn’t you?”

“When my sense of touch came back...” Malfoy sighed, gathered his hair to rest over one shoulder, then immediately pushed it to the other side.

Harry gently encouraged, “Go on.”

“The pain was unimaginable.” Malfoy overturned his hand and the vial vanished. He forced a grim smile. “It doesn’t matter now.”

Harry worriedly dropped his gaze from Malfoy’s pinched features to notice Malfoy restlessly fidgeting with the silver cuff underneath his left hand. Harry’s eyes rounded as he stared at Malfoy’s wrists.

“Are they hurting you?” At Malfoy’s confused expression, Harry quickly clarified, “The handcuffs, I mean. Are they too tight? Shit, I can’t believe I didn’t ask—”

“Do you _ ever _stop worrying about other people?” Malfoy rhetorically asked. He hunched over and covered his face. His words came out slightly garbled from behind his hands, “No, of course you don’t. You’re a bloody saint.” 

Harry opened and then closed his mouth in quick succession. He thought of repeating the question, but didn’t want to upset Malfoy further. Harry bit down on his tongue. 

“Even though you’re not saying anything, I can still tell you’re worrying,” Malfoy gritted out with an exhaustive groan. He heavily dropped his hands and clearly stated, “No, they aren’t hurting me.”

“Oh. Okay.” Harry steadied himself with a relieved breath. He nervously rambled for lack of anything better to say. “That’s good. I wasn’t sure cos mine didn’t hurt, but they weren't charmed metal so…” 

The introspection caused realization to dawn. There was no longer an overwhelming surge of magic coursing from his core. Dazedly, Harry sat upright and pulled his arms out from underneath the quilt. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Malfoy stiffen. When Harry looked down at his wrists, it was as if he was seeing them for the first time. 

“I didn’t know what else to do.” 

Malfoy’s voice was suddenly unrecognizable to Harry’s ears. The lyrical tone was thoroughly debauched as if it had been ripped from a stranger’s throat, then shoved into Malfoy’s mouth. Harry numbly looked up from the bands on his wrists to meet Malfoy’s torn open expression. 

Almost in a trance, Harry pushed the quilt off of his body and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The balls of his feet pressed firmly against the floor. Harry picked up his glasses from the table and fiddled with them. He passively traced the pad of his pointer finger over the frames. The skin between his eyebrows puckered. 

Finally, Harry whispered, “You told me to stop being scared of what I might do without them.” With shaky hands he put on his glasses, but he didn’t want to see Malfoy’s betrayal any clearer. Harry gripped the edge of the mattress hard enough for his knuckles to flush ivory. He gruffly lamented, “_ You _ said that, Malfoy.”

“I know I did, but...”

“But, what?” Harry angled his head to study Malfoy’s profile. He helplessly urged, “You changed your mind?” 

“Potter, you weren’t prepared.”

“Fuck that! You just didn’t think I could handle—”

“You were dying!” Malfoy shouted over him. 

With cold despondence, Harry muttered, “Wouldn’t be my first time.” 

The moment it was out, Harry knew it was the wrong thing to say. 

Malfoy gravely told him, “You don’t get to joke about this.” 

Harry’s face was twisted from regret, but it was almost an automatic reflex to defensively mumble, “Why not? It’s my funeral.”

“Why not?” Malfoy disbelievingly uttered. “How about because I could _ feel _you slipping away.” Malfoy harshly raked his fingers over his scalp and tugged on a handful of hair. He slowly shook his head as he said, “Don’t tell me to start caring and then ask me to stand by while you die.” Malfoy sounded utterly lost when he murmured, “I was trying to protect you.”

A fuzzy memory of Harry waking in the middle of the night pushed to the forefront of his mind. A quilt. The protective glow of _ Lumos _ over the bed. Bass. Harry glimpsed over his shoulder towards the python who was partially burrowed under a pillow. Bass’ content “ _ so good to us” _ wrang in his ears. Harry turned back to Malfoy and thought of the potion he drank. It was the same potion Malfoy used when he too experienced the unbearable pain of feeling all of his magic return at once. Malfoy, however, had to experience it alone. _ He could have died alone. _Any residual indignance left Harry with an exhale. 

Harry didn’t utter another word for some time. Instead, he gathered his thoughts and steadily untangled their knots until he was certain of what he wanted to say. It was crucial for Harry to be certain because Malfoy would parse every word. Harry knew him well enough to be certain of that. Once everything inside his head and heart settled, he broke the silence. 

“You were right earlier.” 

Malfoy stilled by Harry’s side.

Harry rested his elbows on the tops of his knees. He massaged his palms together and genuinely admitted, “I’m a reckless idiot.”

“Excuse me?” 

“I’m a reckless idiot,” He repeated. Harry conversationally carried on, “_And _ an abominable Gryffindor.” 

Malfoy dropped his hands to his lap. 

“I worry about other people more than myself. Sometimes I know that I’m doing it,” Harry rocked his head from side to side, “most of the time I don’t, though.”

With his brows pulled together, Malfoy turned towards Harry.

“I know it scares people.” Harry’s voice became softer, more sincere. “Friends. Coworkers. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Molly, especially.”

“So,” Malfoy cautiously asked, “what’re you trying to say?”

“I’m saying that I know I can go too far.” Harry bowed his head and stared down at the bands circling his wrists. “And I don’t want you to stand by when I do.” 

Malfoy sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. He steepled his fingers together. When he released his lip, he importantly asked, “You understand why I did it?”

Harry closed his eyes. He flexed his hands and pushed his stubborn pride to the wayside. Opening his eyes, Harry said, “If I was here two years ago...if you weren’t alone...”

Without saying a word, Malfoy placed his hand on the empty space of mattress between them. His palm turned to face upwards in a silent offering. Harry wasn’t positive about what _ was _ being offered to him. Understanding? Reassurance? Kinship? He couldn’t be sure. Nevertheless, or perhaps even moreso, Harry knew that he wanted it. All of it. Heart thundering with adrenaline, Harry slowly placed his hand on Malfoy’s. 

“I would have protected you, too.” 

Harry felt as if he was flying into a swooping feint. 

It was nerve-wracking. 

And careless. 

And…

“Thank you,” Malfoy whispered.

Harry held onto him tighter.

_ Natural. _

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is for my beta, Mary.


End file.
